


Operation M.A.C.

by crassulaovata (fandomsandcake)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Dennis has a god complex, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Scheming 101: A Beginner's Guide to Ridiculous Plans, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-09-24 01:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17091566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomsandcake/pseuds/crassulaovata
Summary: Mac and Dennis get married in holy matri-homie for the sake of reality TV. Just classic bros being dudes, in the eyes of the lord.





	1. Mac and Dennis Get Engaged

**Author's Note:**

> This is set vaguely around Season 8-9, but it also doesn't matter that much.
> 
> Blanket warnings for homophobia, misogyny, toxic relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mental illness, alcoholism, and generally the gang being canon-levels of awful. I don't condone the actions of these horrible people, I just choose to write fiction about it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An opportunity for a good ol’-fashioned scam arises. Mac explains that gay marriage is a sin. A scheme is hatched. Nothing about any of this is gay in any way.

**4pm on a Tuesday, Philadelphia, PA**

The rest of the gang are sat around the bar when Mac comes storming in, an excited, almost frantic look in his eyes.

“Guys, guys, guys,” he says. “I found something amazing.”

Attention instantly snaps to him, and Dee lets out a shrill protest. Mac absently notes that maybe she’d been talking when he came in. Either way, it doesn’t fucking matter, because his thing is _awesome_ , and nothing Dee ever says is awesome.

“Look at this,” he slams a flyer down on the bar, smoothing down the crinkles from where he’d been gripping it.

There’s a beat of silence, and Mac thinks how everyone must be too excited at how _awesome_ his plan is. “What is this?” Frank asks after a moment.

Mac jabs his finger frantically at the flyer, grinning. “Fifty thousand dollars. Well, not yet, but we can _win_ fifty-thousand dollars.”

There’s silence again, and everyone is looking at Mac, and it’s not the way he expected. Instead of excitement (it’s fifty thousand dollars, they should be fucking excited), they look confused. Charlie is squinting at the paper, probably still trying to read it.

“Win fifty thousand dollars,” Charlie reads slowly, and Mac is half proud at how well he’s going until: “Have you a nerdy mangled double? Yell at –”

“I’m gonna stop you there, Dennis says, holding up a hand. He blinks. “You can’t seriously think that’s what this says.”

Charlie ignores him, and turns to Mac. “Dude this is awesome! We just need to find our doubles and fight them!”

Mac also ignores Dennis, because at least Charlie is _excited_ , even if he’s gotten the flyer all wrong. “No dude,” he claps Charlie on the shoulder. “It says: Are you a newly married couple? Tell us your story for a cash prize of five-thousand dollars, and the chance to go in the running to win fifty-k.” He whoops and punches the air. “Fifty thousand dollars, guys.”

Even Charlie looks confused now. “But,” he says hesitantly. “No one is a newly married couple.”

Mac groans and gestures widely. “You’re not _getting it_ . No one needs to be _actually married_ , we just need to fake it. We get five-thousand just for being part of their stupid,” he checks the flyer again, because in his frenzy he forgot what the advertisement was actually for, “TV show, or whatever” he adds after a moment. “And then if we’re good we get fifty-thousand dollars!”

Frank bangs his hand down on the bar. “All marriage is a scam, so let’s scam marriage. I like it, Mac.”

Mac yells and throws out some more karate moves, because he’s _excited_ goddamn it. They’re gonna be rich, and all they have to do is _lie_. It’s so easy. Stupid TV people. “Scam!” he shouts, pumping his fist in the air.

“Scam!” Frank shouts.

Then, him and Frank are chanting the word _scam,_ at the top of their lungs.

“Wait,” Dennis says, but Mac ignores him and keeps chanting. Fuck Dennis for getting in the way of a good chant.

“Wait,” he says again, and Mac still ignores him.

“Wait!” he yells, slamming both hands down on the bar so hard that an empty beer bottle topples off and smashes.

“Scam?” Mac says quietly, once more, tentatively lowering his hand.

“Who’s going to get married?” Dennis asks.

Mac is getting frustrated. Everyone is too dumb to understand his plan. “ _No one_ is getting married,” he explains again, slowly. “It’ll be _fake_.”

Dennis sighs and purses his lips. “Who’ll be getting _fake married_ , then?”

Mac opens his mouth to reply and then freezes. He hadn’t thought about that. He quickly lets his eyes wander the group. It can’t be Dee and Dennis, because they’re siblings and that’s too weird. Frank isn’t lovable enough to win _anything_. It could be Charlie and Dee, but then Mac misses out on participating in his own scheme. “Me and Dee, of course,” he says quickly, because he needs to make sure that everyone knows that’d been his plan all along, damnit.

Dee shrieks. “Why?” she asks, sounding disgusted. But wait, Mac thinks, that can’t be the case, because he’s a fucking _beefcake_ and is way hotter than anyone Dee could ever actually marry in real life.

“That’s disgusting,” Dee says, and Mac remembers why he hates her.

Before Mac can yell at her and tell her how hot he is, while she looks like an ostrich, so really, it’d be disgusting for him, Dennis asks the same question. “Yeah, why Dee?” He sounds curious, and is looking at Mac in that typically _Dennis_ way that makes his skin crawl, all unblinking intensity.

“Well you two are siblings,” he explains. “Which is weird, and illegal, and Frank is too old, and I guess Charlie could do it, but I made the plan and that’s not fair. Really, I’m taking one for the team,” he adds. “I mean, it’s _Dee_.”

Dee makes a soft _ugh_ noise, but Mac ignores her.

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Frank says. “Why _Dee_ ? Not why _you_.”

Mac frowns. “What d’you mean?” Everyone else suddenly seems to be on the same page, and is looking at Mac like _he’s_ the stupid one.

“Well like, you could marry me, dude,” Charlie says. “Fake marry. Whatever. Why’s it gotta be you and Dee?”

Mac’s heart skips a beat, and he suddenly feels a lump in his throat. He wants to run away, or maybe hit something, because that’s way tougher and he isn’t a pussy. “Gay marriage,” he says, just to clarify that this is what they’re talking about. He feels sick. “It’s a sin, Charlie! I can’t gay marry someone!”

“Fake gay marry,” Charlie corrects.

“Marriage,” he explains, “is between a man and a woman.” He makes a circle with his left hand and mimes the motion of fucking, in case they didn’t get it. He’s explained this a thousand times by this point, and can’t believe that the rest of the gang don’t see the evils of homosexuality. “Anything else ruins the sanctity of the holy union, given to us by _God_.”

“And fake marrying someone for a scam is holy, huh?” Dee asks, in her annoying liberal activist voice.

Mac nods. “As long as it’s straight.”  

She crosses her arms. “Well I’m not fake marrying you.”

Mac’s jaw tightens. He suspects that Dee’s reasoning is largely to do with her whole fake-activist, Defender of the Gays thing, but there’s a tug of insecurity that suggests maybe he’s just not good enough, even for Dee. But no, that’s dumb, because it’s _Dee_ . Of all people. And he’s _Mac_ , and is tough and strong, and badass, and has banged so many hot chicks.

“Aw Dee, come on,” Frank shouts, following by a litany of agreement from the rest of the gang, consisting mostly of things like _yeah, Dee_ and _Dee, you suck_.

She storms off, and Mac feels angry, and on-edge, and a little bit sick in the pit of his stomach. But mostly angry.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s later that night, and Mac is sitting on the couch in their apartment, waiting for Dennis to get home. He’s drinking a beer, and watching Raiders of the Lost Ark for the thousandth time. By this point he knows the whole film like the back of his hand, but it’s a fucking classic, so anyone who gives him shit can fuck off.

He hears the rattle of keys in the door, and then Dennis is walking in, somehow not looking tired despite just finishing a long shift at Paddy’s.

“Hey bro,” Mac says, holding out a beer for Dennis, and not taking his eyes away from the screen, because this is a _good part_. “Wanna watch?”

Dennis hums, takes the beer and sits down next to Mac. He kicks his shoes off, and rests his feet on the coffee-table, silently finishing his beer while the move wraps up. The credits roll, and Mac yawns, stretching his arms up, and then clapping his hands down on his thighs. He can feel Dennis watching him, and it’s kinda weird. For some reason, under Dennis’ gaze he feels a bit like a thing being hunted, like prey, like something weak and vulnerable.

“What?” he asks, suspiciously, crossing his arms and making sure to flex a little in the process, just so Dennis remembers that he’s _tough_.

“Marry me, Mac,” Dennis says. He’s smiling slightly, and there’s a glint in his eyes, the one that means he’s up to something.

But Mac forgets that he knows how to read Dennis, and can judge when he’s scheming. His brain doesn’t seem to be working properly. It takes him a moment to process Dennis’ words, and he’s confused, then angry, then confused again, and then confused _and_ angry.

“ _What_?” he snaps.

“Hear me out,” Dennis says, holding up a hand like he’s about to make a business presentation. “Instead of fake marrying Dee, fake marry me. I was reading the flyer, and it seems to be mostly about telling a good story, participating in their games, playing the right part. Now Dee,” he laughs and shakes his head. “Dee may think she’s an actress, but she isn’t. And with Dee as your partner, your whole story would need to be a lie, a façade. You have no relationship. She’s a vulture, Mac!” His voice rises and falls, passionately. Mac can hear him slipping into that slightly different version of Dennis: the one that makes grand speeches, and is a little bit scarier than normal-Dennis. He stands up and begins to pace up and down in front of the couch.

“I on the other hand, am an excellent liar. Not only that, but we have a relationship Mac. We’ve been best friends for twenty years. We already live together. Hell, we’re basically already married!” Mac’s heart constricts at that sentence, and he thinks it must be anger.

“We’re not –” Mac starts, because Dennis is making them sound way gayer than they are.

“Let me finish,” Dennis says. “If it’s me and you, we only have to lie about some things. We don’t have to pretend to like each other, we just have to … _bend_ the truth when it comes to the nature of our dynamic. Think of the possibilities, Mac!” he shouts, leaning down and bracing his hands against the back of the couch behind Mac’s shoulders. And then, quieter, darker, close enough that Mac feels his breath against his cheek: “Think of what we can achieve.”

Mac swallows. His throat feels tight, and it must be the anger. He’s about to say something like, _but that’s gay, Dennis_ or _it’ll be weird_ when Dennis pushes himself back into a standing position and deflates. Suddenly he’s normal-Dennis again, not grand-Dennis. “Besides, bro,” he says, in his normal voice. “I reckon we can manage to keep at least $40k of the money between the two of us. Screw the others.”

His brain unfreezes at the mention of money, and not that he’s willing to sell himself out (which, okay, _maybe_ he is willing to do a _little bit_ of selling out), but the more money they can get from the scheme, the better.

He blinks. “And we’d get the up-front five thousand.”

Dennis nods. “It’s no different from that time with Vinegar and Honey. We’ve gotta do the same thing, just with Mac and Dennis. Instead of Vic and Hugh being gay, Mac and Dennis are gay.”

The wave of nausea is back, and so is the anger. “I’m not gay!” he shouts.

Dennis squints at him, opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then shuts it again. After a moment, he says, slowly, “Mac, yeah, whatever. But for the show, you’ve gotta be gay. If we’re gonna get fake married, for the sake of _money_ ,” he points at Mac to emphasise that this is about cash which, to be fair, does help get the point across, “then you need to be gay Mac. And I’ll be gay Dennis.”

Despite the part of his brain telling him to shut up, because Dennis is sensible and this is just about money, Mac is still angry. He crosses his arms and glares at Dennis. “I don’t want to be gay Mac. It’s a sin.” He knows he’s being unnecessarily stubborn at this point, but something is making him want to aggravate Dennis more.

Dennis looks like he’s about to scream, and Mac feels vaguely satisfied about it. “Well you can either be gay Mac with fifty thousand dollars, or straight Mac with nothing!”

Mac uncrosses his arms, just to cross them again, more aggressively and more tougher this time. “I like money,” he admits grudgingly. This is dumb. It was his plan in the first place, and he wants the money, but he also doesn’t want to be _gay_ . For not the first time, he wonders what it’d be like if Dennis was a girl. For one thing, they could get (fake) married without God getting angry. And for another thing, they’d probably be banging. He’d love to bang Dennis. As a girl. He’d love to bang _girl_ Dennis, but he wouldn’t bang _Dennis_ -Dennis, because _gay_. He almost says aloud that he wishes Dennis were a girl, because then they’d probably be banging right now instead of stubbornly arguing.

He quickly shakes away any and all thoughts of banging Dennis, because this always leads to a dark place, and then he finds himself crying and saying _Hail Mary_ ’s until he’s sure that God understood he was thinking about banging _girl_ -Dennis and would never have gay sex.

“And it wouldn’t be _really_ gay,” he adds, and Dennis gives him a look that says _yeah, obviously_ , but Mac ignores it because it was his idea in the first place, so he has a monopoly on any-and-all subparts of the idea, including any schemes regarding fake gay marriage.

Dennis crosses his arms and looks down at Mac. “Are you, or are you not, agreeing to join me in holy matrimony, for the sake of getting rich.”

Mac shuffles in his seat. “It’s not really matrimony,” he says. “More like … more like matri _homie_ . Because we’re homies.” He likes that. Getting married in holy matri _homie_ is far less gay-sounding than matrimony.

“Bro,” Dennis says impatiently. “Is that a yes or no?”

“Bro, let’s get fake married,” Mac says, and even though his clever rewording of the situation has made it inherently not-gay, he’s gonna make sure to pray extra hard tonight, and just explain the situation to God. He’s sure even God would get fake gay married if this much money was on the line, so really, this is the most holy course of action.

He’s gonna scam the hell out of those TV bitches.


	2. Full Scheme Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Dennis realise that maybe fake gay marriage is a more complex process than initially thought. The gang (minus Dee) seems to agree that this whole situation is both sensible and heterosexual.

**11am on a Tuesday, Philadelphia PA**

Mac storms into Paddy’s, with Dennis close behind him. “Guys, me and Dennis have decided to get fake married in holy matrihomie.”

“Am I going deaf or did you just say matri _ homie _ ,” Frank asks.

“Yeah, matrihomie,” Mac clarifies. He sits down at the bar and signals to Dee for a beer. “It’s like matrimony, but is straight marriage between two straight best friends, for heterosexual reasons, because they’re  _ straight _ , not gay.” He makes sure to emphasise this, because he doesn’t want anyone getting confused.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say the word ‘straight’ that many times in one sentence,” Dee mutters, but Mac ignores her, because she hasn’t given him his beer yet and he hates her.

“The point is,” Dennis cuts in, giving Mac a look like he knows he was about to start yelling at Dee which, shut up Dennis, because he was  _ ignoring  _ her and wasn’t going to start explaining again the heterosexuality of the situation. “That Mac and I are going to get fake married for the scam.”

“ _ Fake  _ married,” Mac reemphasises. “Because homosexual marriage is a crime against God.” Everyone gives him a  _ look _ , but then turn their attention back to Dennis.

“So how does this whole plan work,” Frank asks. “Do you have to sign a fuckton of papers like me and Charlie did? Or is it easier now since Pennsylvania made actual marriage legal for the homos?”

Mac feels deeply uncomfortable again. Objectively he knows that he’s going to have to learn to listen to conversations about real gay marriage as part of his fake gay marriage scheme, but the whole concept makes him so angry. Too much separation of church and state, if you ask him.

“Well you see, Frank,” Dennis says, “we won’t be signing any papers.”

Mac frowns. As much as he had  _ definitely _ thought this whole plan through, because he’s an expert schemer and owns this plan, it maybe, possibly, might not have occurred to him how they would make the scam  _ convincing _ , in terms of legal documents and shit.

“Because it’s just for a TV show, and not to scam the government,” he continues, “we don’t need the same sort of legal  _ proof _ of our marriage.”

“Yeah, how do you know that?” Frank asks sceptically, crossing his arms.

“Because it’s a  _ TV show _ !” Dennis yells, gesturing widely with his hands. “Reality television is stupid and fake! They don’t care about evidence.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We’ll be happy to schedule a meeting with you and your partner, Mr. Reynolds,” the lady whose number was on the flyer says through the phone. “Just make sure you bring along some evidence of your marriage.”

Fuck. Dennis feels a sharp stab of anger. “I thought this was a reality show?” he snaps.

There’s a beat of silence. “It is, in a way,” the lady says slowly. “But we like to think of it more as a documentary, where audiences can vote on who wins a prize.”

He wants to hang up the phone, or maybe find the lady and yell at her face-to-face, but instead he grits his teeth and tightens his grip on the edge of the bar table. “Yes, okay, that’ll be fine,” he says, lacing his voice with false sweetness, the kind that makes women do whatever he wants.

“A copy of your marriage certificate will suffice,” she says. “And if you could also bring with you a photograph that you feel summarises you as a couple, that would make the selection process a lot easier.”

“The selection process?” Mac asks. He had been mostly silent up until now, because of an agreement that he  _ should not _ talk, because of his tendency to start lecturing about the evils of homosexuality at the drop of a hat. And to get a boner while doing so. Dennis makes a mental note to work on that. The lecturing, that is, not the boners, although those could be a problem on-camera too.

“We have an enormous number of candidates for the show,” she says. “As well as a series of preliminary interviews, the photograph will be very important for establishing your couple-profile, and making sure that you’re the best fit for our show.”

Dennis takes a deep breath and grips the table harder. He hates this woman. Who uses the phrase ‘couple profile?’ He hates her.

“But in saying that,” she continues. “I don’t want you to overthink the photo too much. Just go with your instinct, because what we want to see is… the  _ truth  _ of you and your husband.”

Mac twitches beside him, and Dennis glares at him and holds up a hand, reminding him to shut the fuck up. Mac’s repressed homosexuality is annoying even at the best of times, but Dennis can tell that it’s going to drive him  _ mad  _ over the course of this scheme. The things he does for money and fame.

“Sure thing, Janice,” he says, all honey and falsity.

“Uh, it’s Janet,” the lady says, but he barely hears her, because for god’s sake he doesn’t  _ care _ .

“When would you like us to come in and meet you?” Dennis asks. He wants to end this conversation  _ now _ , before he loses it and smashes his phone. Again. He’s getting into a bad habit of smashing his phone. This never would have happened back in the days of Nokia’s, that’s for sure.

She pauses for a moment, and he hears a click of computer keys. “How about on Friday at midday?” she asks, and reels off an address and contact number.

Dennis scribbles down the details on the back of a crinkled receipt from the video store. “That all sounds perfect.” He thinks his fingernails have dug a groove into the table now.

“I’m looking forward to meeting you, Mr. and Mr. Reynolds,” she says, and Mac twitches so hard this time that Dennis thinks he’s about to fall off the stool.

Dennis hangs up without any further pleasantries, and slams his phone down harder than necessary. He also misses the days of dramatically snapping shut a flip-phone.

He takes a deep breath and readies himself for the inevitable shit-storm that’s about to hit when Mac realises that they have to actually, genuinely, in the eyes of the state of Pennsylvania, get married. He thanks the universe for how slow Mac is, because he knows that if he’d realised while the phone call was still in process, this scheme would have been dead in infancy.

He wonders for a moment if there’s a way of getting legally married to Mac without Mac knowing about it, but then decides that no, there probably isn’t. Mac’s constant Internal Gay Crisis (which Dennis has started capitalising in his head) gets in the way of  _ everything _ . This is a situation best suited to classic manipulation, Dennis decides. He could tell Mac that the marriage forms are something else – some sort of legal friendship agreement – but, no, there’d be no getting that past Frank and Dee. The thought of directly explaining the situation to Mac makes him shudder, but he doesn’t have much of a choice.

“Mac,” he says, slowly, already bored of the argument which hasn’t started yet, but they’ve somehow already had a thousand times. “We have to get legally married.”

Mac’s eyes widen and his shoulders tense, and Dennis gets ready for the yelling, but then he just adjusts himself on his stool and says: “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Dennis is floored. “ _ What?”  _ he asks incredulously. “No,” he waves his hand to indicate  _ all-the-ways-Mac-usually-reacts-to-gay-stuff _ , “lecture about the sins of homosexuality? No rant about the separation of church and state? What is this?”

Mac looks at him like  _ Dennis _ is the stupid one. “Bro, I kinda expected that we’d have to get legally married. But it’s fake, remember? Matrihomie.”

Dennis feels the overwhelming desire to either take a shot of something strong, or shoot himself in the face every time Mac uses that word. He’s annoyed that Mac isn’t more upset about this. Dennis, of course, has no qualms about getting legally married for money, because he’s a respectable man, who’s comfortable with his sexuality and can perform a rational, utilitarian calculation, and come to the conclusion that fifty-five-thousand dollars is fucking  _ worth it _ . But Mac, on the other hand, should be yelling, or crying, or praying, or some combination of all the above.

“Why aren’t you yelling?” Dennis asks.

If Mac’s eyebrows get any more furrowed they’re going to fall off his face, which would serve him right. “I’m not angry?” Mac says, but it’s a question.

Dennis  _ is _ angry, but he takes a deep breath and gets ready to push on to the actual  _ scheming  _ part of the scheme. Which, of course, is what he’s best at. He has the mind of a god, and is going to use it to  _ win _ .

 

* * *

 

It’s night now, and there’s a handful of regulars haunting the back booths of Paddy’s. Mac and Dennis have spent the whole day discussing the scheme, and making an actual, tangible plan. Dennis has a checklist of things they need to do before Friday, and has created a timeline, because this is going to be taken  _ seriously _ . They’re ready to present their plan, in all it’s fake-gay glory, to the rest of the gang. They would have been ready four hours ago had Mac not needed more time to finish his poster-boards. Dennis feels the overwhelming urge to introduce Mac to the wonders of PowerPoint.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dennis says, loudly and expressively, deliberately shifting his body language and the timber of his voice to come across as more assertive, more knowledgeable. “We are gathered here today to discuss what could quite easily be the Scheme of the Century.” 

Perhaps that’s an overstatement, but nonetheless this scheme is going to be more profitable than anything they’ve done in a long time, and he, Dennis, was the mastermind behind it. Mac helped too, of course, but without Dennis, Mac would be incapable of something this  _ flawless _ and elaborate.

Dee scoffs and mumbles something that Dennis doesn’t quite hear, and wouldn’t care to hear either way, lest it shake his confidence. Not that anything  _ Dee  _ thinks could affect him. He’s unshakeable.

“As you all know,” he continues, “Mac and I have decided to get married to win a grand prize of over fifty-thousand dollars from a TV game show, slash reality show, slash documentary.”

“We’re not really sure what it is,” Mac adds, unnecessarily, interrupting the flow of Dennis’ presentation. He takes a moment and then continues.

“To make sure this endeavour is successful, we’ve devised a three-point system. Welcome to,” he pauses to create dramatic tension, “Operation M.A.C.”

Mac pulls back the piece of paper covering the first third of their board, to reveal the words ‘ _ M. – MAKE IT CONVINCING’  _ in a blocky, stencil-like font, which they’d spent at least an hour fighting about. Dennis still thinks they should have gone with something cleaner, like Franklin Gothic, but there’s only so long a man can fight with Mac about fonts before getting exhausted.

“Step One, M, is Make It Convincing. This is the phase we will spend this week in, and I’ll expand on that a bit later. But this essentially the acquisition of a marriage certificate,” on cue, Mac slams a printed stock-image marriage certificate on the board, “the taking of some photographs documenting the development of Mac and I’s alleged relationship,” Mac adds a ridiculous stock photo of muscular men wearing sleeveless t-shirts clinking beers, “and other such things, essentially fabricating years of romance in the space of a few days.”

Mac nods enthusiastically and gets ready to introduce the next phase. Dennis still thinks that  _ he  _ should have given the whole presentation, but Mac hadn’t been satisfied with the job of Head of Posterboard Operations, a title that Dennis had made up to try and get him to let him to all the talking, damnit.

“Step Two,” Mac says dramatically. “Is A, for Act The Shit Out Of This Thing.” He reveals the second third of the board.

Dennis scans the crowd (if Dee, Frank and Charlie can be considered a crowd, which given the brilliance of his presentation he thinks they probably have to be) and is annoyed to see that everyone looks varying degrees of bored. Frank is doing something disgusting to his feet with a cork-screw (Dennis hopes that it isn’t from behind the bar), Dee’s gaze is fixated on whatever gross thing Frank is doing, and Charlie is zoned out and reeks of bleach. 

“ _ Listen _ !” Dennis thunders, letting himself embody the anger of a god. He is Thor. He is Zeus. He is an all powerful being, and his schemes will be  _ respected _ , or so help him. He then continues, normally. “I know you all have the attention span of toddlers, but this is important.”

“Ugh, what?” Frank says, removing the corkscrew from the vicinity of his feet.

“Step Two,” Dennis replies, in his normal voice.

“Will you need any help with the acting?” Dee asks.

“Not from you, you talentless whore,” Dennis says casually. “This phase is the most important. As you can see from Mac’s helpful graphics, this is where we pretend to be a couple for the pleasure of an audience.” He gestures behind him to the board, where Mac has added a stock photo of a gay couple, overlaid with bold red text reading ‘ _ NO HOMO’ _ . Dennis thought this second part was highly unnecessarily, but who’s he to get in the way of Mac’s unhealthy expression of his repressed sexuality.

“This brings us to Step Three, the C of the M.A.C. scheme. The one you’ve all been waiting for.” He stops, hands folded in front of his body, and stares at the rest of the gang.

Dee sighs and reluctantly says: “What’s Step Three?” Dennis is glad that she understood that this was a moment for audience participation.

“Step Three is,” Dennis pauses while Mac removes the final covering from the board.

“Collect the cash!” he and Mac yell simultaneously (Dennis with considerably more panache) and Mac starts whooping and punching the air. He gives Dennis a double high-five, and they start chanting  _ collect the cash _ , as is obviously appropriate.

Unable to resist a good chant, the rest of the gang join in, and there’s a few minutes of chaotic excitement. Dennis lets it play out before loudly clearing his throat and yelling, “ _ Wait _ !”

The commotion dies down, and Dee, in a tone that Dennis doesn’t like, because  _ where’s the respect, goddamnit _ , asks, “What?”

“Now it’s time to review our timeline and discuss the details of Step One,” Dennis says.

Everyone groans, including Mac. “Do we have to?” Mac whines.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Dennis lets his body language and voice once again slip from Presentation Mode. “This is your plan too. Yes we have to.”

“Ugh.”

“Just switch to the next board, alright?” Dennis snaps.

Mac does as he’s told. Dennis locks his jaw and continues.

“Tomorrow,” he says, pointing to the timeline neatly printed on the poster board, “we’ll be taking photos.”

“I’ll be the photographer,” Charlie jumps out of his chair, and as Dennis starts to say  _ Charlie, wait _ , he’s running to the back office. “I have a camera!” he shouts, and then there’s a loud crash.

“Charlie,” Dennis says, exasperated, because why will no one ever let him finish talking before launching into action. Their  _ own  _ action, not pre-approved, useful-to-the-scheme action.

“Just a second,” Charlie’s voice is muffled now, and Dennis thinks that it’d probably serve him right to be crushed by boxes of trash, but then he’s emerging triumphantly from the office. In his hands is a surprisingly (that is,  _ suspiciously _ ) good camera.

“What the fuck, Charlie?” Dennis asks. “That’s almost as good as  _ my camera _ . Why do you have that?” Of course, Dennis has a top-of-the-range DSLR. His favourite lens is the long-range zoom, for obvious reasons.

“For reasons,” Charlie says vaguely.

“How d’you afford that?” Dennis continues.

“Frank got it for me,” Charlie says defensively. “I wouldn’t steal a camera, dude.”

“I wasn’t saying  _ that _ , just –” he fists his hands in his hair. This conversation is getting sharply derailed  _ again _ . “It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter. Charlie, yeah, I guess you’ll take photos for us.” He’d rather Charlie fuck up his own camera instead of Dennis’ anyway, because whatever Charlie does with it is probably creepy, whereas Dennis is an artist, a connoisseur of beauty.

“Nice,” Charlie says, and then he lifts the camera to his eye.

He takes a photo as Dennis lunges toward him shouting, “Not now, you idiot!”

“I feel like we’re getting a bit derailed,” Mac suggests hesitantly, while Dennis is screaming and avoiding the urge to strangle someone.

He takes a deep breath and unclenches his hands from fists, hoping that his face isn’t obviously purple. “Yes, yes, we are.” He sighs. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

“Anyway, Charlie can take photos, and we’re going to start off with some holiday shots, and then at around four-pm we’re going to the park for a wedding shoot. Frank, we’ll need your green screen for the holiday ones.”

Frank huffs and crosses his arms. “Like hell. What’s in it for me?”

Dennis feels the rage rising again. “Money, Frank! Jesus Christ!”

“Are you sure you want to be married to  _ that _ , Mac?” Dee clicks her tongue conspiratorially and gestures toward Dennis.

“Uh, yes?” Mac says.

“You know what?” Dennis thunders, pushing the timeline off the easel. “This isn’t worth it. You people are ridiculous! Mac and I don’t need your help!”

He slams the back door of Paddy’s just in time to hear Mac say, “Actually, we do, so be here by ten-am tomorrow or you don’t get a cut of the profits. Except you Dee, no one cares what you do,” and he lets his anger fade just enough to feel something maybe akin to pride

 

* * *

 

“You know what this whole thing is missing?” Charlie asks, taking a break from photographing Mac doing tough security-guard poses by the front door of Paddy’s.

“The duster!” Mac says. “Dude, you’re totally right. That thing makes me look a million times more badass.”

“No, not the photoshoot,” Charlie lowers the camera and puts on the lens cap. “Although, you’re right, the duster would be awesome, we need to get that in here. But I was talking about your whole marriage scheme.”

Mac shifts uncomfortably. He’d forgotten about that for a moment. He hopes that this whole  _ thing  _ isn’t going to take over his life. He doesn’t want things to change, and is gonna be pissed as fuck if a scheme ends up throwing off the whole dynamic of the gang. The marriage is all anyone seems to be talking about lately (which, he supposes, is technically his fault as Grand Master Of The Plan, but why does it have to be such a  _ thing _ ).

“A mascot,” Charlie continues, without waiting for Mac to reply. Mac’s eyes widen and he goes to say something, because that’s a fucking  _ brilliant  _ idea, maybe he should have married Charlie instead of Dennis, when Charlie holds up a hand. “Now hear me out,” he points leisurely at Mac and clears his throat. “Every good team throughout history has had a mascot. The Phillies have the Phillie Phanatic. Kool Aid have the Kool-Aid Man. America has the mighty eagle!”

Mac purses his lips and nods, because Charlie is onto something there. “So it only stands to reason,” Charlie finishes, in the voice he uses when arguing bird law, “that Mac and Dennis need a mascot.”

“That’s an awesome idea, dude!” Mac says. “Maybe we could get, like, a really big dog. That’d totally scare the competition. Oh! Or one of those big jungle pythons, like in that movie Python.” Mac is pretty sure that that movie was based on a true story.

“Or,” Charlie drags the word out. “A bird.”

“A bird!” Mac agrees, pointing at Charlie.

“I’m a leading expert in bird law!” Charlie says excitedly, like Mac could have forgotten. As annoying as Charlie’s claims of being a lawyer are when there’s something legally-pressing happening, he is a fucking genius when it comes to bird law, Mac can’t deny that.


	3. Straight Shooting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang hold a series of photoshoots in which Mac and Dennis pretend to be husbands. Charlie gets a bird.

**10am on a Wednesday, Philadelphia, PA**

“First, is the beach,” Dennis says. He and Mac are stood in the middle of Paddy’s in Tommy Bahama shirts, shorts and flip-flops, even though it’s barely sixty degrees outside. Charlie and Frank have already arrived, Charlie sporting a neon green bucket hat and Frank (regrettably for everyone who  _ isn’t _ Frank) is in only a speedo and unbuttoned shirt. Dee might turn up, but Dennis really doesn’t care. He’d prefer if she just stayed away, but knowing her she’s going to stick her beak into everyone else’s business.

“Frank, did you bring the green-screen?” Dennis asks.

“I’m not an idiot, it’s in my car.”

“Good. Let’s go,” he says, clapping Mac on the shoulder and guiding him toward the door.

“So how exactly are we gonna do this?” Mac asks. “Make the photos look real, I mean.”

Dennis waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, you know, green screen magic shit. Photoshop can make anything look real.”

A few minutes have passed, and Mac is in the passenger seat of the Range Rover as they drive toward a parking lot in the warehouse district. “So… Photoshop is gonna make us look gay?” Mac picks at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt, which is ridiculously too big for him. It makes Dennis itch. He wants that shirt off Mac. He wants all of those shirts to be burned. They remind him of when Mac was… when Mac wasn’t  _ Mac _ . He wants to see him in tight t-shirts, and tanktops, and maybe something made of mesh. Something that makes Mac look his best. Something that makes Mac look worthy of being next to Dennis.

“No,” Dennis says. “We’re gonna make us look gay. Photoshop is going to make us look like we were gay at the beach.”

“Oh. Right.” Mac squints and pouts, and Dennis thinks that today Mac’s mental state will probably land somewhere between confusion and forced hypermasculinity. So, nothing out of the ordinary, then.

There’s a few more moments of silence, and Dennis is about to switch on the radio when Mac says, “So in this situation, who’s the top and who’s the bottom?”

Dennis just about swerves and kills them both. “Jesus Christ, Mac. We’re taking cutesy vacation photos, not shooting a sex-tape.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mac is looking increasingly worried. “But I just want to know. Because I’d definitely be a top, bro.”

“Good for you!” Dennis says exasperatedly, shrugging violently, as best he can with his hands on the wheel. He’s about to make a comment about how he’ll keep that in mind for when they ass-fuck later, but he holds himself back. He doesn’t want to risk sending Mac over the edge this early in the day. They have shit to get done.

They arrive and hop out of the car, and Dennis is satisfied with how predictably abandoned the area is. Frank and Charlie aren’t there yet (probably because Frank is an old, blind bastard who shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car), so Dennis pops the trunk and starts unloading the props.

“Do we really need all of these?” Mac asks, specifically eyeing the giant inflatable banana.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Dennis shrugs.

By the time Frank and Charlie arrive (yelling at each other about  _ something  _ Dennis can’t be bothered giving a fuck about), he and Mac are stretched out next to each other on pool chairs. Although it’s currently outside the optimal hours for tanning, and is objectively cold as fuck, he’s not going to miss the chance to absorb some sweet Vitamin D. His eyes are closed behind his sunglasses, and he can absently feel Mac next to him. The arms of their chairs are pressed up against each other, and their bare forearms brush, and Dennis notes that Mac’s skin is really warm. He doesn’t know why, but that information seems important. He’ll write it down later. 

He’s startled into opening his eyes when he hears a loud squawk. At first he thinks it’s just Dee, but then he realised that it’s an  _ actual _ bird – an honest-to-God  _ parrot _ .

“Is that a parrot?” Dennis asks, dumbly, pointing to the screaming, green thing currently attacking Charlie’s head.

“Yeah!” Charlie says, and somehow still manages to look excited despite the fact that that bird has him bleeding in at least two places.

Dennis pinches the bridge of his nose and thinks for a moment. This could be an irrelevant Charlie-antic, or it could be a Charlie-antic that he mistakenly believed was  _ relevant  _ to the more important antics going on today. Dennis runs through the most likely reasons Charlie would have for bringing a parrot to a photoshoot, and lands on pirates. “You do know this isn’t a pirate-themed shoot, don’t you?” Dennis asks.

“Um,  _ duh _ ,” Charlie says, finally wrestling the bird into its cage.

“Yeah, it’s a mascot, dude,” Mac explains, pushing himself up off the chair and walking over to Charlie.

“You knew about this?” This is why he should be allowed to run interference on every sub-part of every scheme, because otherwise they end up with parrots where no parrots are needed.

“Like Charlie said,” Mac continues. “The Phillies, and Kool-Aid and  _ America _ .” Dennis blinks. He feels like he must be missing some context.

“Right,” Dennis says dismissively, because he honestly cannot be bothered deciphering that set of Charlie-logic. “But the parrot.”

“Mascot,” Mac says again, more impatiently this time. He has one hand on his hip and is gesturing with the other to the bird. “For our gay marriage.”

Dennis is getting a headache. He isn’t sure since when marriages need mascots, and why their mascot is a parrot, but he decides that he needs to fight his battles wisely, because otherwise he’s going to spend the next few days (the next few  _ months _ , really) constantly screaming. And he needs to protect his vocal chords.

“Alright. Okay. Let’s just get the green screen out.”

“We need to name the bird,” Mac stresses.

“I literally don’t care,” Dennis says, because he doesn’t.

The parrot thankfully remains in its cage for the duration of the shoot. They set up the green screen behind their beach chairs, and he and Mac start off by lying next to each other like they were before, their arms brushing. Charlie is an enthusiastic photographer, but Dennis makes sure to check the photos every few minutes, just to make sure Charlie hasn’t added a dumb filter, or let the battery die or something.

“Try holding hands,” Charlie says. “That’s gay.”

“No homo, bro,” Mac mutters, and Dennis rolls his eyes so hard they just about fall out of his head. Mac holds up a hand, and Dennis laces their fingers together. He hears Charlie snapping photos, and runs his thumb over the palm of Mac’s hand. It’s intimate, and Dennis notices the way Mac’s breathing speeds up, and he’s staring at Dennis with a look of …  _ fear _ , maybe. Dennis can’t be sure. But he adds that to the mental file of  _ Things That Are Important _ anyway, along with the warmth of Mac’s skin.

“Let’s do some with the props,” Charlie says, shattering what Dennis might tentatively refer to as  _ the moment _ .

Dennis removes his hand from Mac’s, and casually folds up his chair. Mac is still staring at him with wide eyes, and he has to say his name a couple of times to snap him out of the daze. Mac quickly stands up and fumbles with his chair, clearing his throat loudly. 

The next ten minutes are ridiculous, Dennis fully admits that, but if these photos don’t make for a damn convincing holiday album he’ll purchase them one-way tickets to Hawaii and suck himself off in the plane’s bathroom. Which if possible, wouldn’t actually be that unpleasant, but it doesn’t matter, because they  _ will  _ be convincing. There’s no way they can’t be.

They take a few group shots, and have to make Charlie remove his bucket hat because it’s the same colour as the green screen. Charlie pretends to throw a beach-ball to them, while Mac and Dennis stand close together, arms around each other’s waists, frozen in the middle of laughing. Things then get a bit derailed, and suddenly Mac is holding the inflatable banana in an unmistakably phallic way and pretending to fuck Dennis in the ass.

“See, I told you I’d top,” Mac says, and Dennis marvels at how  _ talking  _ about being gay is too much for him, but somehow this falls within the realm of acceptable heterosexuality.

Dennis grunts and smacks the banana prop away. “Let’s do some prom poses.” He feels annoyed, and he can’t pinpoint a specific reason, because things are (minus the parrot) going smoothly, but he can’t shake the itch of frustration hanging in the pit of his stomach.

He stands behind Mac and grabs him around the waist, and they grin at the camera. Dennis’ expression is fake. He’s never smiled like this for genuine reasons, and a voice in the back of his head asks him if that’s because there’s something wrong with him, or if it’s because there’s something wrong with everyone else, or if no one ever genuinely smiles like this, and they all just travel through life in a constant state of falsity. The ache of frustration is gradually turning to anger, but he knows how to ignore it, and so keeps smiling.

They finish the beach shoot, and it’s time to move onto New York City. For this, they’ll do a few with green screen to make it look like they were gay in Times Square and Central Park, and then they’ll add in some photos taken in random, not easily identifiable locations around Philly. Today will be a day of numerous costume changes, and Dennis relishes it. 

Dennis changes into some tan chinos and his blue-checked button-up, the one that brings out his eyes. Mac is wearing jeans and a light red, almost pink, polo-shirt. His hair isn’t gelled back like it normally is, and Dennis thinks he looks soft, and it isn’t a terrible thing. He’s dressed more like Dennis than like Mac, with even the jeans tighter than Mac would normally sport, and it looks good on him.

“You look good,” Dennis says, straightening Mac’s collar for him.

“I look like you,” Mac replies, but he doesn’t argue.

They do some more couple-y poses in front of the green screen, and this time Frank and Charlie aren’t in the pictures, because this was a romantic holiday with just the two of them. Dee hasn’t turned up, and Dennis is glad that the note he left at Paddy’s telling her to go to a spot on the other side of the city worked. When they finish, it’s close to midday, and it’s time for another costume change, and then some photos around Philly, to make it look both like they go on regular dates, and like they have friends willing to take photos of them on those regular dates.

But first, they need to do something else. Mac has just finished changing into a grey t-shirt and his leather jacket, and Frank and Charlie are sitting in the front seat of Frank’s car arguing about bird names. Dennis sidles up behind Mac and places a hand around his waist.

“Hey, dude,” Mac says. “Is this outfit alright? I figured the jeans were still pretty gay, so I could wear something normal on top?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dennis says. He steps around so he’s standing in front of Mac and pulls a ring box out of his pocket.

Mac jumps backwards and points accusingly at Dennis. “Woah, woah, woah. What’s that?”

Dennis locks his jaw. “Rings.”

“No, no no, no no. I’m not wearing some diamond ring. That’s  _ too gay _ , bro.”

Before Mac has time to react (which, honestly, what kind of bodyguard does that make him? A delusional one, is the answer), Dennis grabs his left hand and shoves on the ring. Mac looks like he’s about to start yelling, but then stops and looks at his hand. “That’s not that gay,” he says.

Dennis nods, slipping on his own ring. “It’s tungsten and gunmetal.”

Strictly speaking, they didn’t need to put on the rings until the wedding photos later in the afternoon. Strictly speaking, Dennis didn’t need to spend close to a thousand dollars on the rings. Strictly speaking, they didn’t need rings  _ at all _ , because lots of married couples go without them. But to make it convincing they’d need to take some photos that could plausibly be  _ after  _ the wedding ceremony, and Dennis Reynolds wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a ring that lacked class and sophistication. Also, the time had felt right. And it looks good on Mac.

“That’s badass,” Mac says, and Dennis tentatively has to agree.

 

* * *

 

The ring feels heavy on Mac’s finger, but not in a he’s-gay-and-weak-and-can’t-even-lift-a-ring sort of way. More in a fuck-they-really-look-married-now sort of way. He can’t be mad at Dennis though, because it is a cool looking ring: black and smooth on the inside, with a rough, dark-grey band covering most of the outside. If it weren’t on his ring finger, and if Mac didn’t know it was a wedding ring, it could almost pass as something a mob boss or Bruce Willis would wear.

They meet Frank and Charlie outside a restaurant for lunch. Mac isn’t sure where Dee is, but he’s glad it isn’t here. They sit outside on the balcony, overlooking the street, him and Dennis next to each other, and the breeze makes Mac thank God he brought his jacket. Dennis shivers slightly.

“Dude, you good?” Mac asks, grabbing Dennis’ wrist.

“Just should have bought a jacket,” Dennis shrugs. “It’s my own fault.”

He meets Mac’s eyes, and Mac frowns. “I can’t control the weather. Order some soup,” Mac suggests. “It’ll be warm.”

“Oh man, yeah, I want soup,” Charlie says. Mac had almost forgotten that he and Frank were there. Charlie lowers the camera that Mac also didn’t realise he’d been holding.

“I didn’t think this was part of the photoshoot?” Mac says, turning back to Dennis.

“It’s  _ not _ ,” he clarifies. “Give it a rest, Charlie.”

Charlie mumbles something and shakes his head, and then snaps a photo of Mac and Dennis both glaring at him.

“Stop!” Dennis yells. “I’ll bash you over the head with that camera, you –”

A waitress, who apparently appeared out of nowhere because  _ when _ did she get here, clears her throat. “Are you ready to order?” she says pointedly.

Dennis goes from purple-faced and angry to calm and charming in the blink of an eye. “Yes, please.” Mac is impressed that he doesn’t yell at the waitress. She’s being impatient and  _ annoying _ .

“I’m not ready,” Mac says, opening the menu. It’s partially just to spite the waitress, because he’ll probably let Dennis choose for him in the end anyway. He usually does.

“I’ll order for you,” Dennis pats Mac’s hand, which is still gripping his other wrist. Mac pretends not to notice the way their rings clink together, and also pretends not to notice that Charlie is still taking photos.

He sees the waitress briefly glance at their rings and then panics. “We’re gay married,” he says, and then isn’t sure why he said it. He doesn’t want more people than is strictly necessary to know that he’s – to  _ think _ that he’s gay. Because he  _ isn’t _ actually gay.

“Good for you,” the waitress says, sounding bored, and Mac is shocked. Surely they deserve a bigger reaction than that. They’re  _ gay married _ . “Are you ready to order?”

Dennis orders for both of them, and Frank and Charlie order soup and chicken with the beak attached, which causes a whole  _ thing _ with the waitress saying,  _ we don’t have that _ , and Charlie getting mad and insisting that they have to, because what kind of restaurant doesn’t have chicken beak, that’s like not having milk steak, and he thought this was a respectable establishment. Finally, the waitress leaves, and Mac turns to Dennis.

“Dude, did you find that a bit weird?” he asks.

Dennis nods. “How she didn’t even acknowledge that we were gay? I wasn’t going to mention anything, but yeah.”

“Like, c’mon, you don’t just  _ ignore _ that,” Mac says.

“Yeah, you either say something homophobic, which is usually  _ your _ thing, or you say something like, hey, I support the gay community, or hey, that’s great I think you and your husband are really brave. What the fuck was that?”

“We’re so brave,” Mac agrees, growing increasingly annoyed at that waitress. How dare she not acknowledge how brave they are for being openly gay in this cut-throat, homophobic world. Openly  _ fake gay _ , but she doesn’t know that.

“Yeah!”

“Do you know what we need to do?” He’s ready to  _ get  _ this waitress.

“Be gayer,” Dennis replies, and Mac nods, because that’s what he was gonna say.

“Be gayer,” he agrees.

Mac shuffles his chair closer to Dennis and rests a hand on his thigh. It’s warm and firm and Mac feels a jolt of  _ something _ , and decides it must be disgust, and God is reminding him not to get too into things because being gay is a sin, and getting turned on by doing gay shit is  _ even worse  _ than  _ doing _ gay shit. Because there’s lots of situations where one needs to do gay shit, like when pretending to have a husband. Dennis places his hand over Mac’s and moves it higher up his thigh, until it’s just below his crotch. Mac’s heart rate is going crazy, and he wonders for a moment whether this was really a good idea.

They finish lunch, and Mac pretends he hasn’t had a massive boner the whole time.

 

* * *

 

“You absolute  _ cock-suckers _ ,” Dee shrieks from a distance. They’re by the water in Fairmount Park, getting ready for the fake wedding photos. Mac has been arguing with Charlie about whether leaving the bird in the car all day was safe (you never know what kind of thieves are lurking around Philly), and Dennis is nearby, touching up his makeup.

“That’s hate-speech,” Dennis says, not looking up from the little mirror in his hand. Mac used to think it was kind of weird and girly how Dennis wears makeup all the time, but he’s since realised that it’s just a  _ Dennis  _ thing. It might be weird, but in an okay way. And it makes him look good, Mac won’t deny that.

“You made me drive around the city all day looking for you ass-wipes. I had better things to be doing!”

Mac severely doubts that that’s true.

“No one  _ made  _ you do anything,” Dennis snaps his makeup thing shut and looks over at Dee. “It’s not our fault that you’re pathetic.”

“Well now you have to let me be in your wedding photos,” Dee crosses her arms and gives them a look that says  _ I won, bitches _ , except she won nothing and is full of crap. Although, to be fair, she is wearing a long dress, and Mac wonders if she’s been trudging around Philly all day ready for the wedding photos. Maybe that’s why she looks so bad, or maybe that’s just Dee.

Dennis sighs and walks over to Mac, and starts re-tying his bowtie – which had been  _ fine _ , Mac had tied it himself. Mac suddenly isn’t sure where to put his hands, and they feel dumb and heavy hanging at his sides. Dennis bites his lip and lets his eyes slide to Mac’s face, and Mac is staring at him and he  _ knows  _ he looks dumb, but he can’t stop. He tries to remember how to move, but his brain isn’t working, and he thinks it must be because he’s nervous about the scheme. There’s a lot of money riding on them. That’s why Mac’s stomach feels all funny, like he ate a bad burrito that was full of sunlight.

Then suddenly Dennis is gone, and Mac is standing there blinking.

He’s snapped out of his slight daze by Charlie shoving the camera in his face and taking a burst of photos. “Dude,  _ stop _ ,” Mac says.

“Yeah,” Dennis agrees from a few metres away, where he’d walked over to talk to Dee. “You’re the worst, Charlie.”

“I’m sorry I take my job seriously,” Charlie mutters, and then is yelling, “Places, everyone.”

“This isn’t a movie,” Mac isn’t sure why Charlie has to be so annoying.

But, regardless, they do need to get shit done. Without really thinking about it very much, Mac grabs Dennis’ hand and drags him toward the little pagoda thing by the edge of the water. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Dennis and Charlie share a  _ look _ , but he bets it’s just Dennis judging Charlie for being annoying. Mac knows it’s not about him, because that would mean there’s something to  _ judge _ about him, and there isn’t. He’s tough and handsome, and his bowtie is tied perfectly. Which has nothing to do with Dennis. If anything, it looked better before he helped. And his shoes are the most shiniest, because he put in lots of effort last night polishing them, because he’s a good fake-husband and wanted their fake-wedding photos to look respectable. He just wishes that Dennis had let him make his hair look small, because it’s all fluffy and dumb, but he loudly took away Mac’s hair gel. But even without hair gel Mac looks badass and perfect and straight, so Dennis has no room to be judging him and can  _ fuck off _ .

They do some photos with the same cheesy prom-esque poses they’ve been using all day, and Mac wonders how real couples can take lots of real photos together without getting bored of how they’re standing. Mac goes to stand in front of Dennis, so he can rest his hands on his hips like they’ve been doing all day, but Dennis stops him.

“How about you go behind me, this time,” Mac thinks it should probably be a question, but it isn’t one.

“I like being the little spoon,” he protests. “It makes me feel safe.” He pauses for a moment. He doesn’t need to justify himself to Dennis, who doesn’t know  _ anything _ . “Not that I  _ need  _ to be the little spoon to feel safe. I can protect myself,” he adds anyway, just for good measure.

Dennis grabs Mac’s hands and wraps them around his own waist, pressing his back close against Mac’s chest. It’s almost awkward, because Dennis is just a bit taller than Mac, but then he bends his head back so his hair is brushing Mac’s cheek, and he’s not looking directly at Charlie and the camera anymore.

“Gaaaay,” Dee shouts, he hands cupped around her mouth.

Mac flinches and goes to step away, but he doesn’t, because he doesn’t care what Dee says anyway.

Dennis laces their fingers together and presses his body back tighter against Mac. He smells amazing. Mac doesn’t know how Dennis always smells so good, because he only ever uses one cologne, and everyone knows that you need to use at least  _ two _ for it to work. But he does – and it makes Mac feel all tight inside, a bit like he’s been punched, but it’s also kind of giving him a boner, so like he’s been punched in a  _ kinky  _ way.

He doesn’t realise he’s accidentally shut his eyes until Charlie is pointedly clearing his throat and saying, “Uh, guys?”

Mac opens his eyes and squares his shoulders, frowning at Charlie. He doesn’t let go of Dennis, and pretends not to notice the way Dennis is looking at him: like Mac is one of those sudoku things Dennis does that Mac doesn’t really understand, but which absorb Dennis’ attention for hours at a time. He’s still running his thumb over Dennis’ palm, because it’s soft and there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be doing that.

“Do you want to do some with the best man?” Charlie asks.

Mac feels Dennis frown more than he sees it. “Who’s the best man?”

“Who’s the best man?” Charlie repeats, sounding offended. “I’m the best man. Isn’t that like, the father figure person in a wedding situation?” Mac isn’t one-hundred percent sure, but that doesn’t sound right. “I’m obviously the closest thing here you and Mac have to a dad, and so –”

“Wh – I was raised with Frank as my father!” Dennis points out. “Why would we,” he cuts himself off, sighing heavily and untangling himself from Mac. “The best man isn’t the father figure anyway, that’s just dumb. But …  yeah, Charlie, sure, you would be the best man.”

“Wait, what’s the best man, then?” Mac asks, because he still isn’t really sure.

“Like the – the best friend,” Dennis is getting frustrated again, Mac can tell.

Charlie struggles with his camera-stand for a moment, and then inserts himself between Mac and Dennis. Mac is relieved when the camera shutter goes off, because earlier that afternoon they’d spent half an hour posing for group photos that were never actually taken, because Charlie didn’t set the timer on the camera.

“Me and Frank want to be in them too,” Dee says, and Frank grunts.

“As long as I don’t have to stand near Mac’s boner,” Frank replies, which is just  _ offensive _ , because Mac doesn’t have a boner. He might have had a small one before, but he has perfect control over his dick, and like  _ everyone _ doesn’t occasionally get a boner when they’re nervous, and he thinks he might have seen a hot girl over the other side of the park, so it was probably left over from that, too.

They manage to stand like a typical, normal American family for a minute. Of course, minus the fact that the whole premise is a gay wedding, which is just about as far from normal and American as you can get, in Mac’s opinion. But then it goes to shit, and Mac isn’t really sure what happens, but everyone, him included, is screaming at each other, and Mac is making sure to emphatically point out how shiny his shoes were, but now they’re ruined because Frank stood on them when he was trying to get at Dennis, and Mac had bravely defended him like a  _ good fake husband  _ and amazing bodyguard, but now his shoes are  _ ruined _ .

“Go over there!” Dennis is yelling, pushing everyone who isn’t Mac away, back towards the camera. “Go over there!”

“They were  _ so shiny _ , Frank,” Mac is still shouting, and he absently notes that Charlie has the camera in his hands again now. “The photos will show you!”

“No one doubts how shiny your shoes were, asshole!” Dee yells, shoving into Charlie on her way past. Mac doesn’t know where she’s storming off to, or whether she even has the right to be the one doing the storming.

“Shut up!” Dennis is saying, his face getting red.

Mac ignores him and keeps yelling, and Dee has stopped and is yelling back, and so is Frank, and Dennis is just kind of  _ screaming _ , with the subtle  _ click, click, click  _ of Charlie’s camera shutter only just audible.

He sees Dennis make a gesture like he’s trying to strangle the air, and then suddenly someone is kissing Mac. Dennis is kissing Mac, he realises. Everyone has shut up, except Charlie, who’s really fucking over invested in this job, Mac thinks quietly, and then can’t even remember what the job is, because his brain feels like it’s been replaced with cotton wool. Dennis pulls away, his hands still on Mac’s face, and he feels drunk – at least ten-beers-in sort of drunk.

“Kiss,” he says, or tries to say, pointing at Dennis. He’s not sure whether the word actually comes out of his mouth, or if it’s just kind of a small, high-pitched scream.

“We need to do wedding photos,” Dennis replies, and Mac guesses it’s kind of a justification. His brain is too heavy to work much out.

Dennis still sounds kind of angry though, and Mac doesn’t want him to be angry. Whatever he’s saying seems sensible, and so Mac lets out a soft  _ okay _ and kisses Dennis. He rests his hands on Dennis’ hips, and it’s all for the greater good. It’s for a scheme. It’s not gay. It’s okay to kiss Dennis. It’s okay to kiss Dennis.  _ It’s okay to kiss Dennis _ .

He finds himself repeating those words over and over in his head, until it’s less of a sentence and more of a background hum.  _ It’s okay to kiss Dennis _ . Dennis’ lips are so warm and nice, and his hands are so soft on Mac’s face, and it’s like every time Dennis has ever touched his face but a thousand times better.  _ It’s okay to kiss Dennis _ . Mac can’t remember why it’d be  _ not _ okay to kiss Dennis, because it feels so good, and something this good  _ has to _ be okay.

And then, all at once, Mac hears Charlie scream, and suddenly something big and grey and feathered is flapping at him and Dennis, and their lips aren’t touching anymore, and at the same time Mac realises that he’s being assaulted by a goose, he realises that he just kissed Dennis, and it felt super gay. He tries to punch the goose in its dumb bird face, but just ends up getting the sleeve of his (rented) tux ripped, and takes this moment of being a total badass to remind himself that it wasn’t gay, because it was fake, and fake-gay isn’t real-gay, and he’s a badass who can fight a goose and win, and Dennis tricked him into thinking it felt good, and the only reason he got a boner was because Dennis is dumb and has stupid girly hands and a stupid girly mouth.

He makes sure to pray extra hard before bed that night anyway, just in case. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now seems like as good a time as any to note that i am not american, and have never been to america in my life, so pls feel free to correct me on any turns of phrase or cultural things that i get wrong. in saying that, i will continue to use british spelling


	4. Repression 101: A Beginner’s Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis drinks away his feelings, and Mac establishes beef with several of Philadelphia’s most esteemed Catholic priests.

**1pm on a Thursday, Philadelphia, PA**

 

When Dennis was younger, he’d imagined getting married. He pictured a grand ballroom, or a sculpted Victorian garden, or maybe a beach in the Caribbean. He imagined grandeur, and glamour, and the level of ceremony only appropriate for someone as special as Dennis Reynolds. He imagined his wife as an indistinct mass of features – it didn’t matter. She didn’t matter, really. She was gorgeous and tall (but not too tall), and everyone Dennis had ever known watched him deliver his vows, impeccable and perfect. He imagined it as a beautiful day, with everyone paying him the respect he deserved. He certainly didn’t imagine it like this.

If his wedding with Maureen – if it could even be called that – was an ill advised whirlwind, then his wedding with Mac was something else again. It almost felt like a normal day. Dennis had noticed that Mac had put in extra effort gelling his hair, which irritated him, but he also felt a small stab of – something. Happiness, maybe. Pride. Appreciation. Whatever it was, he didn’t have it in him to be mad at Mac about it. Not today, anyway.

They had managed to avoid Charlie and make it to the City Hall alone, just him and Mac. Dennis felt stretched too thin, like his skin had shrunk, and had it not been for Mac’s hand on his arm, he thinks he might have yelled at someone, or gotten into a fight, or cried, or all of the above. It makes him angry that he relies on Mac, and he thinks dryly how Dee’s quips about them being an old married couple now have some traction.

Dennis is sitting in the backroom of Paddy’s. Mac’s ‘M.A.C’ poster-board is leaning up against the opposite wall, and then suddenly he’s yelling and smashing it, and then he isn’t really sure why he did that.

Later that evening, he heads out to a club to try and find a chick to hook-up with. His wedding-ring feels heavy in the pocket of his jeans, and he finds himself snapping at a girl that she’s barely a six-out-of-ten, and needs to take a look in the mirror before thinking she has a chance with him, even though part of him knows she’s a solid eight or nine. Instead, he ends up getting blind drunk and falling asleep in the front-seat of his Range Rover. It isn’t how he imagined his wedding day, but when Mac wakes him up at 4am the next morning, looking sleepy and disheveled, Dennis thinks that despite the cramps in his legs and neck and the foul taste in his mouth, this is still better than his last wedding day by a mile.

“Hey,” Mac says, and Dennis still feels far too drunk for any sort of conversation. “Glad I found you. I realised you weren’t home yet and…” Mac shrugs and trails off.

Dennis blinks and looks around, and realises with a start that he’s crookedly parked outside of Paddy’s. He has no memory of driving here, and it’s one of those times where he can’t be sure if it’s the alcohol making him forget, or whether he stepped out of his body while it continued to go about its business, as tends to happen sometimes. He thanks his own expert driving and the incompetence of the Philadelphia PD that he didn’t get slammed with a DUI. Mac shuffles awkwardly, and Dennis’ brain feels muddled and heavy. He knows he should respond to Mac, but can’t make a sentence form.

“Are you okay, dude?” Mac asks, and Dennis instantly resents how genuinely concerned he sounds. And yet, his stomach does a tiny flip, and his fingertips tingle, and Dennis _knows_ that it’s the alcohol, dampening his ability to control his shitty biology. He almost _feels something_ , and it’s the presence of that ghost of real emotion that makes him absently wonder whether, maybe, this wedding day _was_ the best one of all time, despite the lack of ceremony. It’s unsurprising, really, that anything Dennis does would be the best. But, still, if he’s going to keep constantly _feeling_ shit, he thinks he’ll probably have to either get way more drunk next time, or up the stakes with something a bit stronger. He wonders if his coke guy is still in the area.

“Dennis,” Mac repeats, and he realises that his mind has been wandering.

“Hey, baby,” Dennis replies, and then laughs, because how _ridiculous_ is it that Mac is his _husband_ now?

“I agree it’s pretty ridiculous,” Mac agrees, and Dennis wonders how many of his thoughts have slid their way off his tongue without his realisation.

“Look, probably more than you’ve wanted. You’re hammered dude,” Mac responds again, and Dennis decides that _yeah_ , he was always sober enough to know that he shouldn’t be attempting to have any sort of conversation. When Mac doesn’t speak for a moment, Dennis proudly realises he’s managed to keep his mouth shut, and slides back down in his seat.

“Dennis, move. I’ll drive you home,” Mac says. Or maybe it isn’t really Mac. Maybe it’s someone pretending to be Mac, to get at Dennis. He really can’t be sure, and he swats his hand at the person – the _maybe-Mac_ – who’s annoying voice keeps _saying shit_ and interrupting Dennis’ perfectly fine sleep.

“How’d I know you’re Mac,” Dennis says, this time on purpose, feeling like he’s doing a good job not slurring his words.

Maybe-Mac sighs, and then he’s crouching down to Dennis’ eye-level. Dennis takes note of the location of his limbs, momentarily worried he lost them, and finds that he’s scrunched up in the driver’s seat, with his head lolling to the side. Which is not ideal, but it’s _fine._ He blinks and realises that Mac is holding a hand in front of his face. Stupid fucking Mac, and his stupid fucking blurry hands, Dennis can barely even see him, and he’s about to yell and ask his hands to maybe try being less fucking blurry, but then his eyes focus and he notices the ring that Mac’s wearing. The ring that Dennis _bought_ for him, and he thinks of the receipt in the glovebox, and the proof it provides of the obscene amount of money Dennis spent on Mac. Stupid fucking Mac, who… _god_ , Dennis hates him so much.

He’s busy thinking, his brain moving with the speed and precision that only someone with a genius IQ could begin to understand, and absently realises that Mac has somehow transported him to outside the car. Dennis’ feet are moving sluggishly as Mac half-carries and half-drags him, and dumps him unceremoniously in the backseat of the Range Rover.

“Mac,” Dennis slurs, and Mac pauses his search for the car keys to look back at Dennis. His eyes are stupidly wide, and he reminds Dennis of an owl. “You’re such a bitch.”

Mac sighs and purses his lips. “You’re the one who left me alone on our wedding night, Dennis. We were gonna watch RoboCop.”

Dennis scoffs. “Like you care. I’m…” he thinks, and loses his train of thought, and has to try desperately to bring his focus back to what he’s trying to say. “You want to distance yourself from that gay shit.”

“That doesn’t mean I want distance from you, Dennis,” Mac replies, and he sounds genuine and Dennis _hates him, hates him, hates him_. “I don’t want our marriage to impact our friendship.”

Mac keeps talking on the drive home, but only some of the words make sense to Dennis. He knows Mac talks about God, and love, and souls, and Dennis doesn’t believe in any of those things. He feels suddenly useless, and every bump in the road makes his body and brain drift further away from each other. He’s drunk, and that’s why he feels this way, all of a sudden. He’s drunk, and that’s why he _feels_ all of a sudden.

Dennis doesn’t remember much else, beyond a vague knowledge that he was helped up the stairs, and a blurry memory of shouting at Mac when he tried to put Dennis to bed. He wakes up to the shrill beep of his alarm, and he doesn’t check the time. It’s not until his phone is lying in the corner of the room, screen shattered where it collided with the wall, that Dennis thinks to silence the alarm, and it immediately helps soften the throbbing hangover behind his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, massaging his palms into his eyelids. He checks his phone, and it’s 1pm, which, all things considered, isn’t bad. There’s a garbled message from Charlie, which Dennis doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher. There’s also several messages from Mac:

> **Mac 05:02**
> 
> Good night bro
> 
> **Mac 05:03**
> 
> Hope the hangover isn’t too bad haha
> 
> **Mac 05:18**
> 
> Put some water and shit on your table call me if bad
> 
> **Mac 05:25**
> 
> Gnight
> 
> **Mac 11:00**
> 
> Just checking in! Hope ur feeling OK
> 
> **Mac 12:32**
> 
> Gone to wawa
> 
> **Mac 12:32**
> 
> Will get coffee for u b back later

Dennis’ heart skips a beat when he sees he missed their 11am check-in, before realising that Mac would have still been home at the time, so it’s _fine_. He knows Mac would have popped his head in, to make sure Dennis hadn’t choked on a pile of his own vomit. It’s fine.

The water and aspirin laid out on his side table don’t make him hate Mac any less. If anything, it makes him hate Mac more, because Dennis doesn’t need _shit_ from him – he doesn’t need _help_. But the throbbing pain in his head and the dry scratch of his throat wins, and he gulps down the water, and takes more aspirin than he should. He isn’t sure how long he spends in the shower, but the tiles are welcome and cool against his forehead, and by the time he get out, Dennis feels significantly better. He proceeds to throw up in the toilet until there’s nothing left in his body except suffering and pain. His phone buzzes:

> **Mac 1:47**
> 
> On my way! Back now w coffee hope ur awake or I’ll have to wake u ip

In an effort to cling to his dignity, Dennis forces himself up from the toilet bowl, brushes his teeth twice, gets dressed, and manages to be sitting in the living room, the picture of good health, refinement and respectability, by the time Mac opens the front door.

“Dennis!” Mac grins. “You’re awake.”

“Of course I am,” Dennis’ voice is scratchy, and it betrays the fact that he feels like shit, which won’t do at all.

“I brought you coffee.”

Dennis wordlessly takes the cup from Mac and hums in quiet satisfaction. Mac sits down next to him on the couch, and Dennis waits until he’s almost finished his coffee to make any indication that he’s noticed the way Mac is ringing his hands and nervously glancing at Dennis every few seconds. Fuck, he’s too hungover for this shit.

“What?” Dennis asks, and then instantly regrets giving Mac any sort of avenue to vent his shitty thoughts.

“Are… are you... _having-any-second-thoughts-about-this-whole-thing_?” Mac asks, slowly and then in one fast garbled breath that just adds to the pain in Dennis’ skull.

“Jesus Mac, I’m too hungover for your Catholic homophobic shit this morning, all right?”

“No it’s not that –”

“It’s definitely that!”

“It’s not!”

“Oh, like shit it’s not –”

“Maybe it is a bit –”

“A _lot_.”

“But I wasn’t wanting to talk about that, dude,” Mac finishes. “It’s just… you were kind of a massive asshole to me last night, and I can’t let this shit ruin our relationship – our friendship – the way it is.”

Mac communicates more with his hands and his body language that he ever does with his words (that was one of the first breakthrough observations Dennis recorded in his psychological file), and right now, Mac’s expressive gestures make Dennis consider that maybe the idiot was telling the truth for once, and this _is_ actually about more than being a closeted gay Catholic. Dennis runs his thumb over his freshly cracked phone screen, and something about the afternoon sun casting a warm patch on his exposed forearms, and the slow decline of his pounding headache makes him reconsider his hatred of Mac.

“Also, I held onto this for you so you wouldn’t lose it,” Mac adds when Dennis doesn’t reply, and places his ring in Dennis’ palm. “I know it probably cost you money and stuff, and, besides, we’ve gotta stay matching.”

Dennis’ throat feels tight, and he swigs the last cold dregs of his coffee to wash it away. “Good,” he shoves the ring back on his finger without looking at Mac, and neither of them mention it any further.

A few seconds of awkward silence hang heavily, and Dennis’ brain feels like it’s working at half speed. He’s too tired to put on airs, and he doesn’t think until later about the way he lay his hand on Mac’s knee for a slightly too-long moment before getting up to go quietly throw up some more. And even when the fact of that action processes, he’s too exhausted and numb to analyse the interpersonal ramifications and impact on Mac’s emotional profile. Dennis is definitely too exhausted for any sort of emotional labour. He’s too tired to think about how he – Dennis Reynolds, god among men – is married to Mac, and how that statement doesn’t cause the sort of fight-or-flight instinct he thinks it probably should. He doesn’t want to _think_ , and so gets high in the hopes it’ll cure his hangover, and falls back asleep listening to Rick Astley.  

 

* * *

 

“In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit, bless me father for I have sinned. It’s been two weeks since my last confession,” Mac makes the sign of the cross, and hears Father Peterson shuffle behind the screen of the confessional booth.

“Hello, Mac,” he responds, sounding mildly exasperated. They didn’t part on great terms last time Mac came to confession, because Father Peterson started being a little bitch, and accused Mac of making no attempts to change his behaviour for the better, and Mac had started yelling about God’s forgiveness and was close to punching through the screen before Father Peterson gave in and absolved him.

“Father,” Mac says. “I got married.”

“Congratulations, Mac. I don’t remember you mentioning anyone of romantic interest in your life, but I extend my congratulations nonetheless. Is the marriage relevant to your confession?”

“Yes, yes, the marriage _is_ the sin, Father.”

Father Peterson is quiet for a beat. “I’m going to need you to explain this to me, Mac.”

“I got gay married,” Mac says quickly. “Like, it’s not _real_ gay marriage,” he clarifies. “It’s for a scam. There’s this reality show thing, and so Dennis and I are pretending to be married, but then we had to actually get legally married and shit, you know?”

“A reality show?” Father Peterson prompts.

“Yeah, for money,” Mac explains, and he’s getting frustrated that the Father is focusing on the wrong parts of this story. “That’s not important.”

“I… I hope I’m understanding this correctly, Mac. You got married to your friend to scam money from a reality television program.”

“ _Yes_.”

“And which sin are you confessing to? Of course, conducting any sort of… _scam_ ,” his tone is sceptical, and Mac knows that Father Peterson isn’t badass enough to try any good scams, because he’s a _loser_ , “to get money is representative of greed and dishonesty, both mortal sins in the eyes of God.”

Mac blinks. “What? No, Father, you’re not getting it. Those aren’t big sins. It’s the gay shit. I got gay married – _that’s_ the sin. God hates homosexuals. Greed and lying are _way_ smaller sins than homosexuality.” He wonders whether Father Peterson deserves to be a priest, because he’s so _stupid_ and Mac has to explain the Bible to him so much.

“Some mortal sins can’t be bigger or smaller than others.”

“Um, yes they can be,” Mac insists. “Gay marriage is the biggest sin.” He’s starting to get hot, and bounces his leg up and down hard enough to shake the booth in the hopes it’ll help him calm down enough to finish getting rid of his sins.

“Actually… _Actually_ , Mac, homosexuality can be reconciled with religion. God’s love can extend to any loyal Catholic, regardless of their choice in partner.”

Mac flinches. Father Peterson is the _worst priest_ , and Mac can feel God’s anger making his blood boil. “No! No, _no_ , no! You’re not listening. Gay marriage is a _sin_ and I got gay married. And even if it’s fake, I’m still doing the biggest sin, because my thoughts are still sins, Father.”

He’s confessed to Father Peterson before about his sexual indiscretions. Once, he told Father Peterson how he’d accidentally thought about dicks while jacking off, and despite Father Peterson’s protests, had managed to _win_ and get absolved. He’d had a boner the whole time, and had gone and jacked off afterwards in the Church bathrooms, and then had immediately confessed again. Making mistakes is okay as long as he makes sure God knows it was an accident. It was like that time Mac had accidentally let some guy at The Rainbow suck his dick. It was neither gay nor a sin as long as he confessed.

“Mac, you can be gay and a Catholic, and still be loved by God,” Father Peterson repeats.

Mac isn’t really listening, because he’s starting to think maybe Father Peterson is a homo. He’d have no other reason to be telling Mac this sacrilegious bullshit.

“I’m not gay, it’s _fake_ ,” Mac repeats. “But… but even if it’s fake, I have _thoughts_ , Father, and they’re sinful. Sometimes… sometimes I think about what it’d be like if it were real. Sometimes I _want_ it to be real! Sometimes I want to be real gay married and not just fake gay married, but that would make me gay, and I’m straight, Father, and I’m going to Heaven, and I’ve never, ever had my cock sucked by a dude!” Mac feels panic starting to grip his heart. His breathing is too fast, and his whole body feels like it’s pulsing, and he knows that this is God threatening him with death if he doesn’t confess.

“Mac, do you want to confess to greed and dishonesty?” Father Peterson asks.

“No! I want to confess to gay shit,” Mac shouts. He starts pounding on the wall of the confessional booth. “I want to confess to gay shit.”

“Mac!” the Father shouts, and repeats his name several times. “Mac, calm down. Breathe with me, son.”

Mac gulps and lowers his hands, and does what Father Peterson tells him, breathing in and out, slowly. He can feel the oxygen returning to his brain, and is glad that, despite being a homo and a sinner, Father Peterson can talk directly to God and tell him to stop choking Mac.

“Mac, I can’t absolve you for your homosexuality,” Father Peterson says quietly.

“I’m not –” Mac starts, because a _huge_ mistake was just made. Mac has _homosexual thoughts_ but he isn’t a _homosexual_. Those are completely different things.

“I think you need to seek self-acceptance,” Father Peterson interrupts him. “You will be a better man and a better Catholic if you choose to live your truth, Mac. Accepting your homosexuality and divulging it openly to your loved ones might help you find peace, and address your other sins.”

“Shut up!” Mac shouts. “No, shut up! Shut up! You faggot! You idiot! _No_!” he punches a hole through the screen of the confessional.

“Come on, we just got that fixed!” Father Peterson gripes, but Mac doesn’t pay attention, because he’s already storming out of the church, and pulling out his phone to look up other Catholic churches nearby. Just because Father Peterson is a homo apologist and is headed straight to hell, that won’t stop Mac from confessing his sins and getting absolved. He _needs_ to get absolved.

He decides to walk to St Michael’s, which is only two blocks away, and he could use the fresh air to help gather his thoughts in time for a _proper_ confession. That was just a practice round. It’s a surprisingly warm day, and the sun really has no right being this nice when God is a few seconds away from smiting Mac and condemning him to eternal damnation. His phone buzzes, and he flinches when he sees Dennis’ name on the screen.

> **Dennis 15:00**
> 
> Are you okay?
> 
> **Mac 15:01**
> 
> Yeah I’m fine just going to church
> 
> **Mac 15:01**
> 
> U OK?
> 
> **Dennis 15:01**
> 
> Hungover still. When will you be home?
> 
> **Mac 15:02**
> 
> IDK depends if priest is a bitch

Mac waits a minute, but Dennis doesn’t respond, which instantly fills him with dread. What if God decided to punish Mac by making something bad happen to Dennis? What if God is punishing Dennis _directly_ because he refuses to embrace the word of God and confess his homosexual indiscretions?

> **Mac 15:03**
> 
> Reply 2 me dude I’m worried
> 
> **Dennis 15:03**
> 
> I’m okay. Going to sleep. Leave me alone.

St Michael’s Church is grander than Mac is used to, with vaulted ceilings that seem to go on forever. The bluestone walls protect the interior from the warmth of the afternoon, and Mac crosses his arms, his sleeveless tank insufficient to prevent a shiver running through his body. The familiar smell of oils and wax and flowers helps dampen the heat that’s been simmering since his conversation with Father Peterson. The bench in the confessional is cold against Mac’s palms, and he feels tiny and small. The booth is too big, and he wishes it would shrink in on him, or that God would help him get more bigger so his shoulders would press against opposite walls of the booth and trap him here until he was guaranteed a direct route to Heaven.

“In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit, bless me father for I have sinned. It’s been twenty minutes since my last confession, but the priest was a dick so it didn’t count.”

“Welcome, son, I’m Father Smith,” the priest replies. Mac can hear the slight twang of a Southern accent, which is _good_ , because Southern priests are less likely to be liberal cucks like Father Peterson.

“So I’m just going to need to clarify right off the bat that homosexuality is the worst sin,” Mac says.

“It’s difficult to quantify the gravity of sins,” Father Smith hesitates. Mac doesn’t have time for his big words. He’s just doing it to _confuse_ him, and it’s not going to work. “And even so, it’s most certainly not the worst.”

“Ok, but, as long as you’re not going to try and tell me that homos can be good Catholics,” Mac clarifies.

“It’s debated, but I believe there can be reconciliation of sexuality and religion. Our understanding of sin –” but Mac doesn’t hear the rest of what’s said, because he gets up, slams the door to the confessional, and screams as he storms out of St Michael’s.

He catches a cab to St Augustine’s, on the other side of Philly. Maybe there’s been some sort of conspiracy brewing in the churches in his area. Mac knows that a key part of the gay agenda is destruction of all religion and the outright murder of Baby Jesus, and it’s no coincidence that the recent legalisation of gay marriage and the opening of not one, but three gay bars in the area coincides with Satanic interference in Catholic spaces.

“In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit, bless me father for I have sinned. It’s been fifteen minutes since my last confession, and homosexuality is the biggest sin, so I’m just going to need you to keep that in mind.”

“Good afternoon, young man. Is homosexuality what you’ve come here to discuss today.” This priest doesn’t offer his name, which is a good first step, because Mac prefers not knowing. He doesn’t care about the _identity_ or personality or life-story of any clergyman, but just needs them to use their ability to talk straight to God to help Mac.

“Uh huh,” Mac agrees. “Also, you should let the Pope know that Philly is being invaded by sinners, and that some priests are bitches.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a line of communication with the Pope,” the priest lies. Like he can fool Mac with that bullshit. He knows how the Church works.

“Yeah, okay, sure, whatever. You _can’t talk to the Pope_ ,” Mac puts this last part in air quotes, even though he knows the priest can’t see it. He hopes it comes across in his tone.

“I genuinely can’t,” the priest reiterates.

“It’s okay, we’re on the same page here,” Mac agrees. He gets why the priest is lying. You can’t have every ordinary fuck knowing the secret structure of the Church, or the Pope wouldn’t be able to do his important work blessing babies and building statues of Mother Mary for God to live in.

“Tell me about the sins you wish to confess,” the priest says.

“I got gay married.”

“Congratulations, young man! It was a good day when Pennsylvania allowed all God-loving men to live together in the holiest of unions.”

Mac roundhouse kicks the Church’s sign on his way down the front path, and it hurts his foot, but was _worth it_.

“In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit, bless me father for I have sinned. It’s been fuck knows how long, probably like, half an hour, since my last confession,” Mac says to the faceless priest through the grill of the confessional at St John the Evangelist Church.

“Welcome, I’m Father Coltam. You’ve already confessed today?”

“Father, other priests have been denying that homosexuality is the most worst sin you can do,” Mac explains.

Mac thinks he hears the priest gasp. “That’s terrible. I’m sorry that you’ve been exposed to such heresy, my boy.”

Mac lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I know right! I’m so glad I’ve finally found someone who’ll listen to reason, Father,” Mac says, and he tells him about the scheme, and the gay marriage, and the sinful thoughts. Father Coltam warns Mac that if he doesn’t repent he’ll burn in Hell for all of eternity, and die an early, horrific death from AIDs. He’s given a number of Hail Mary’s to repeat, and warned not to engage in any acts that could be perceived as homosexual by an observer. Mac recites an Act of Contrition and can feel God forgiving him for his mistakes.

He feels lighter during the trip back to Paddy’s, but there’s still an unshakeable sense of dread that hangs in the pit of his stomach. Confusingly, the weight of the wedding ring brings him comfort, even though he knows it’s a physical manifestation of his worst sin. But, it’s fine, because he’s been absolved, so now can’t go to Hell for being gay married, even though he’s not gonna _stop_ being gay married. Mac loves how much _sense_ it all makes, all the religion stuff. You fuck up, and be guilty about it, and then a good priest fixes it for you. It’s so much easier than having to fix things for yourself.

He sends Dennis a text to meet him at the bar if he’s feeling up to it, and when he receives a thumbs-up emoji in response, makes sure to go via a Starbucks to grab Dennis another one of those awful no-sugar no-milk coffees that he drinks. The afternoon sun has gotten softer, and the sky is shades of pale blue and orange, and Mac knows that the clear sky is a sign of God’s approval.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:  
> (1) I've taken some liberties when it comes to the Catholic Church's response to homosexuality. In real life, I doubt 3/4 priests would be quite that openly accepting of gay people, but this is fiction and I can do what I want for the sake of comedy.  
> (2) Dennis being a little bitch when drunk is based in part on a true story of a friend of mine who was fucked off her face and convinced that we were all imposters.  
> (3) I don't know how to format text messages.  
> (4) I might have said this before, but this fic is un-beta'd and my brain doesn't work so if u notice mistakes pls let me know.


	5. Mac Keeps His Cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dee and Charlie decide to get in on the scheme. Mac and Dennis meet with the television studio and wholeheartedly embrace their role as Mr. and Mr. Reynolds.

**5pm on a Monday, Philadelphia, PA**

 

Everyone is yelling when Dennis walks into the bar, which is nothing new. He’s grateful when Mac wordlessly hands him a coffee, and while it’s slightly colder than he’d like, it makes the commotion slightly more bearable. 

“Hey, Dennis, hey,” Dee says, and she’s all up in his face, and he might actually kill her. “Guess what, guess what, guess what?” 

“What?” Dennis snaps, already ready to rip his hair out.

“Charlie and I are doing the scheme too,” she says. “That’s right, Charlie and I got married, and we’re doing the scheme.” 

“You? As if you have any chance of winning the affection of an audience.  _ You _ , a gargoyle, and  _ Charlie _ , a rat man?” 

“We’re gonna be playing characters,  _ stupid _ . I’m gonna be,” she starts whimpering, and puts on an accent that Dennis thinks is supposed to be Tidewater Southern, “the daughter of a wealthy oilman, who lost his fortune in the recession. I had a  _ terrible  _ accident that gave me split personality disorder.” She switches to the worst Russian accent Dennis has ever heard. “And now sometimes I becomes Bertha, a Russian soldier, and my loving husband,” she switches accents again, “ _ struggles  _ every day but would never leave me because he just adores me so dearly.” 

“My god, you’re actually stupid,” Dennis reponds, and decides that this whole…  _ bit  _ that Dee is doing isn’t worth his attention. “First of all, Bertha isn’t even a Russian name –” he cuts himself off. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter!” 

He notices when Mac rests his hand on Dennis’ lower back, and  _ perhaps _ there’s a correlation between the contact, and that Dennis is able to stamp down his rage until it’s less of an inferno and more of a mild warehouse fire. 

“Sorry to do this to you, man,” Charlie says, and sounds genuinely apologetic. “It’s just that Dee, she’s so demanding, and she offered me half her paycheck for the next month, and like with the whole ghoul thing happening I need that extra cash.”

Dennis doesn’t ask what the  _ whole ghoul thing is _ , and just shakes his head. 

“It’s fine, buddy,” Mac says to Charlie. “It’s not like you guys will win against me and Dennis.” 

“Oh yeah, and we’re taking the bird as our mascot,” Charlie adds, and  _ somehow _ it’s that which sets Mac off, and has him throttling Charlie, and saying how that’s  _ unfair _ , Dee is already a bird, they don’t need the parrot. Dennis is quietly grateful that at least something good has come from Dee being a desperate and pathetic bitch. No more marriage mascot, which is a net positive thing for the fake Mr. and Mr. Reynolds. 

 

* * *

 

 

The morning comes faster than Dennis would have liked. He wakes up feeling less on edge than yesterday, but as he lies in bed and thinks about how perfectly today will need to go for them to pull it off, his mind starts wandering, and he starts getting furious at an imaginary version of Mac that fucks everything up for them. The anger subsides almost instantly when Real Mac knocks on his door.

“Dennis, I made coffee,” he shouts, and it makes Dennis smile, and he isn’t really sure why. 

Mac is still leaning on the wall outside his room when Dennis drags himself out of bed and unlocks the door. “Morning,” Mac smiles at him. He’s still sleep-ruffled and soft, his hair a chaotic, ungelled mess, and his chest bare, sans both shirt and crucifix. 

“Did you sleep well?” Dennis asks. 

“Yeah, pretty good.”

There’s nothing unusual about this, their undeniably domestic morning ritual, of waking separately, breakfasting together, bickering without malice while their cereal sits, forgotten and turning soggy. Dennis is aware of the way outsiders interpret their relationship – he’d be an idiot not to be. But most of the time, he doesn’t care, because things staying the way they are, with the morning routine, and the monthly dinners, and the regular check-ins, makes Dennis feel tethered. It’s not something he ever really talks about, because talking has been clinically proven  _ not to work _ , despite the propaganda spread by mainstream psychologists, but he often isn’t really sure  _ who he is _ , beyond the image he presents to the world. Having never  _ been  _ anyone other than Dennis Reynolds, he isn’t sure whether that’s normal. He feels two-dimensional, sometimes, like a cardboard cutout of a Hollywood icon, or an ancient god intricately carved on a temple relief. And then other times, he feels split apart into something otherworldly, transcending three-dimensional space: he is become a supernova, or the Big Bang itself. And Mac, well, he doesn’t really seem to care which Dennis he sits across from while he drinks his coffee, and sometimes that’s enough to help Dennis land somewhere in the middle and feel…  _ human _ . Helps him forget the gaping hole in his middle. 

“Oh and, um, I got you something,” Mac says while rinsing out their cereal bowls. “A present.” 

Dennis raises an eyebrow. Mac’s gifts are often  _ bad _ . There’s no sugar coating it. Mac is very bad at choosing presents. They say that it’s the thought that counts, but Dennis doesn’t really agree. What  _ counts _ is the quality of the present, which is why Dennis usually refunds Mac’s gifts and gets something better.

“In the box,” Mac cranes his head back to gesture to a small box sitting on the coffee table in the living room.

The box is a plain and non-descript matte red; classy, which is a good start. Dennis opens it, and blinks in surprise. It’s a dark grey sweater, with an intricate waffle-knit pattern and high v-neck. Mac had the foresight to cut off the price tag, but Dennis knows his Italian wool, and this can’t have been cheap.

“Mac, I love it.” 

Mac’s nervous frown transforms instantly into a grin. He claps Dennis on the shoulder, and doesn’t let go. Dennis runs the sleeve of the sweater between his thumb and forefinger, and meets Mac’s grin with a smile of his own.

“I got it from that fancy place near Market Street.”

“Why,” Dennis’ voice catches, and his coughs to clear his throat. 

“Just wanted to do something nice for you, dude.” 

Dennis squints, trying to work out what ulterior motive Mac could possibly have, and decides that, no, there probably isn’t one, and there doesn’t have to be. They do this sometimes, giving gifts without prompt.

Noon, and with it their meeting with Julie? Jessica? from the television network, is swiftly approaching, and Dennis feels like the day has been put on fast-forward. He’s adjusting the collar of his shirt so it sits perfectly over the neck of his new sweater when Mac wanders into his room and flops down on his bed.

“I’m ready to go when you are, dude,” he says, and without turning to look at him, Dennis knows that Mac is shitting himself right now. 

“You’re not wearing that,” Dennis responds, squirting a dollop of foundation onto the back of his hand. 

“Why not?” 

“You look like street trash.” 

“As if! I want to show them that I make good TV eye-candy.” 

“What happened to that shirt you wore for the Honey and Vinegar thing?” Dennis starts blending his foundation, and pauses momentarily to run a finger over the crows-feet that seem to be getting more pronounced every time he looks in the mirror. 

“I don’t want to wear a pink polo shirt.”

Dennis sighs. “Why not?”

“Because I’m still being Mac and Mac doesn’t wear colours like that!”

“Gay Mac!” Dennis reminds him, swiping concealer over his eye bags. 

“Even gay Mac doesn’t have to wear polo shirts! Gay Mac can still show his muscles,” Mac shouts. Dennis absently notes that this might have just been a major revelation for Mac, when it comes to his whole Gay Crisis. He knows that Mac has an image in his head of what gay men  _ are like _ , and that it’s characterised by outdated stereotypes. To Mac, being gay means being effeminate or being a leather-clad sex-freak, with no in between. 

But Dennis honestly doesn’t give much of a shit about Mac’s Gay Crisis right now. “This has nothing to do with Gay Mac’s muscles! Or with Straight Mac’s muscles! Just…” he exhales and puts down his makeup. “Just wear something with sleeves, alright? Just wear sleeves!” 

Mac huffs and stands up. “Fine. Fine, I’ll wear sleeves. But not because you told me to!” 

“Oh, of course it’s because I told you to!” Dennis shouts, but there’s no real heat behind it.

Dennis is finished his makeup and is just touching up his hair when Mac returns, wearing one of his goddamn Hawaiian shirts. At least this one  _ almost  _ fits him, rather than drowning his body in a tent of gaudy fabric. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do. But  _ still _ . Goddamn Mac and his goddamn inability to dress himself. 

“This fine?” 

Dennis motions him over, and then takes a step to close the distance. For some stupid reason, Mac has done the buttons up all the way. Probably some delusion about how gay men dress. Dennis often wonders whether Mac is aware how many dicks he’s sucked, and thinks he’ll definitely bring it up at some point just to be blatantly antagonistic. 

But, right now, as it stands, Dennis settles for slowly undoing the top buttons of Mac’s shirt. Somewhat unnecessarily, he lets his left hand drift over Mac’s shoulder, and down his bicep. The hard muscle is a welcome improvement from the version of Mac that Dennis was faced with not that long ago. Mac gasps slightly when Dennis’ fingers crawl up underneath his sleeve, and his fingertips trace gentle circles on the skin of his arm. 

He lets his other hand slide under the collar of Mac’s shirt. He grabs his crucifix and holds it tight in his fist. He can feel Mac’s eyes, unblinking, on his face, but he doesn’t look up. He wants to rip the crucifix from the chain around Mac’s neck.  _ God _ . He wants to crush it in his palm, burn it, throw it out the window, hurl it into the Schuylkill river where it’ll rust and decompose. He hates Mac’s religion. Or, more accurately, he doesn’t hate Mac’s religion, so much as the way Mac chooses to  _ use _ it. He dons the mask of a Good Catholic (whatever the fuck that actually  _ means _ ) as a proxy for repression, and it’s annoying. It’s  _ so annoying _ and Dennis wants to murder Mac’s Christian God. 

Dennis has the sudden urge to mouth at Mac’s skin where the crucifix usually sits. He wants to erase all traces of Catholic devotion and leave behind his own mark. It’s all so annoying, and Dennis wants to  _ murder  _ Mac’s Christian God, violently and without remorse, and take His place. Dennis Reynolds is a divine being, and he doesn’t see why Mac need waste his reverence on something imaginary and distant when he’s  _ right here _ , a god in the flesh, living and breathing and touching. 

Finally, Dennis meets Mac’s eyes, and is unsurprised to see his pupils blown wide. If he were to kiss Mac right now, he knows he could get away with it. Despite his concerted efforts to pretend otherwise, Mac is far too gay and far too horny to refuse a chance at male intimacy. Even if Mac were initially hesitant, Dennis knows he could offer a bullshit justification along the lines of  _ we need to practice for when we’re on TV _ and Mac would be instantly pliant.

Instead, he takes a step back, and claps Mac on the back. “Better now,” he says casually, and Mac stands there dumbly for a good five seconds before following Dennis out of the room. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Okay, dude, so I’m not nervous,” Mac says to Dennis while they’re stopped at a red light on the way to the television studio’s Philly office. 

Dennis glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t ask.” 

And  _ true _ , Dennis didn’t ask, but Mac thought he should just clear it up anyway. He doesn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea and thinking that something as pussy-footed as an interview with some  _ woman _ from TV (she probably isn’t even hot) would make him nervous. If Mac were to make a list of things that  _ do  _ make him nervous, it’d be very short and would only include things like: the Yakuza, vegetables, Presbyterians, and the CIA. 

“Yeah I know but…” Mac trails off and shrugs.  

“Don’t freak out on me, Mac.” 

He feels immediately defensive. “I’m not going to.” Mac has never  _ freaked out _ in his life. 

The foyer of the studio is starched white and cream, the select few fake plants doing little to bring life to the space. Mac tries to distract himself with a copy of Men’s Health magazine, but even the beefcakes can’t compete with the steady hum of anxiety coursing through his body. He’s hyper-aware of Dennis’ hand resting on his knee, and he knows it’s because they’re officially playing husbands now, but it keeps taking his mind back to Dennis’ hands on his chest, and his cheeks, and his lips on Mac’s mouth, and then he’s wondering what Dennis’ lips would feel like on his neck, and  _ goddamnit _ Mac can feel himself spiralling. 

“Hey, I can feel you panicking,” Dennis whispers, rubbing gentle circles on Mac’s thigh. “It’ll be fine, baby.” 

Mac gulps and nods. He doesn’t want to be comforted by Dennis, because firstly, he knows he’s only putting on a show for their audience (that is, the receptionist and the other couple across from them in the waiting room), and secondly, because he’s a manly man who doesn’t get scared.  _ But _ , given that he’s currently acting as Gay Mac, maybe there’s no harm buying into the whole thing. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with doing things that Straight Mac would never do. 

Straight Mac is screaming silently while Gay Mac throws his magazine on the table and lifts Dennis’ hand from his knee, wrapping their fingers together. Straight Mac is praying to Jesus, Mary and Joseph while Gay Mac smiles at Dennis with such a good approximation of affection that he might actually trick himself into feeling a small twinge of heat in the pit of his stomach. Straight Mac is tossing himself into the pit of Hell, Satan hot on his heels, while Gay Mac is letting Dennis lay a gentle kiss on his cheek. Neither Straight Mac nor Gay Mac have ever been kissed on the cheek before, and it’s that which sends the compartmentalised halves crashing together, until it’s just  _ Mac _ left. He silently recites a prayer and forces himself to visualise God’s fist crushing sinners into pulp, but he also doesn’t let go of Dennis’ hand. 

Mac is very much  _ not ready _ , and could do with a beer or five to help un-confuse his brain a bit. He stares intensely at the coffee table and seriously considers flipping it. He could do it, right now. It’d be so easy. He’s a muscle-bound hunk, and that table looks like it’s made of shitty cheap wood, probably from Ikea or some shit, and  _ that’s  _ why you should only trust American-made furniture, because if that was genuine American wood it’d be able to withstand Mac, and he could really just do it right now, and he’s twitching and very ready to smash some shit when Dennis squeezes his hand. Mac blinks and meets his eyes.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Dennis hisses. He’s smiling, and so probably to anyone watching, it’d look like he was whispering something loving and husbandly to Mac. 

“I wasn’t going to,” Mac lies. 

Dennis raises an eyebrow.

“Mr. and Mr Reynolds, they’re ready for you now, if you want to follow me,” the receptionist says, hanging up her landline and making her way over to them. “You’ll be meeting with Janet Sherman, one of the Executive Producers of the show,” she explains as Dennis lets go of Mac’s hand and gives him a meaningful  _ look.  _ It’s a look that says  _ don’t fuck this up for us or I’ll skin you in your sleep, asshole _ . 

The receptionist leaves them at the door of Janice’s? Jamie’s? office – Mac wasn’t paying any attention whatsoever to her name – and he’s so caught up on remembering how to look gay when he stands that he forgets to check out her ass as she walks away. He can’t even remember if she was wearing a sexy skirt, or what she looked like at all, really. Fucking awful Gay Mac getting in the way of Straight Mac having a good time and looking at hot chicks. 

“You ready?” Dennis asks, pressing a hand against the small of Mac’s back.

“What? Yes. Shut up.” 

“Remember, let me do the talking.” 

“Okay, but I was thinking maybe I should talk a bit more than we originally were thinking, just because I want her to see that I’m more than just my body.” 

Dennis clenches his jaw and gives Mac that look again. “Don’t fuck this up for us or I’ll skin you in your sleep, asshole,” he says. 

With that, the door to the office opens, and Dennis’ demeanour instantly shifts. His left arm is around Mac’s waist, and he’s shaking the hand of the Producer. She says her name, but Mac doesn’t hear it, because he’s quite suddenly overwhelmed with how real this is. Dennis pinches his hip, and he realises that the Producer is waiting for him to shake her hand, and so Mac puts in extra effort to make it an  _ extra strong  _ handshake to compensate for zoning out. 

It’s a bit easier to focus once they’re sitting down at her  desk, with Dennis’ hand on his knee feeling like it’s quite literally the only thing holding him on earth. If he lets his concentration drop for one second, Mac thinks his brain will probably fly right out the window, and might go permanently join God while his body stays down here and does sinful, scheming things. 

“Mr. and Mr. Reynolds, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person,” the Producer says.

Dennis does one of his Charming Laughs. “Please, it’s Dennis and Mac. We don’t need those formalities.” 

“Well, Dennis and Mac. Thank you so much for coming today. You brought with you your marriage certificate and the photo we asked for? Sorry to start with admin.” 

“Oh, no. No problem at all,” Dennis reaches down to his bag and pulls out a crisp manilla folder. “It’s all right here.” 

He hands it over with a smile, and she lays it on her desk, and opens it far too carefully, and, fuck, Mac just wants this over and done with. The sight of the marriage certificate makes Mac’s heart flip-flop in his chest. 

The Producer frowns. “I’m sorry, this says you only got married,” she pauses. “Two days ago? Is that correct.” 

Dennis laughs. They knew this would come up, and it’s one of the answers they prepared. “So that’s actually a funny story. So we –” 

“So we actually had the ceremony months ago,” Mac continues for him, and he feels Dennis claw him through his jeans. Technically, he wasn’t meant to interrupt, but he wants to be more useful, and if he’s quiet he’s just going to forget to pay attention all together. 

“Yes, like Mac said,” Dennis cuts him off. “We went through all of that ages ago, but then never got around to officially signing a marriage certificate. It wasn’t until prompted by outside forces,” he gestures at the Producer, “that we made the trek to city hall.” 

“I see. That’s certainly…  _ unorthodox _ .” 

“Oh,” Dennis clicks his tongue. “Huh. Dee warned us about this. She warned us about this, didn’t she, baby,” he asks Mac, who nods on cue even though he has exactly zero idea what Dee was meant to have warned them about. “My sister,” Dennis clarifies for the Producer. “She told us that it’d be suspicious to have such a recent certificate given the, you know, possibility for financial gain here.”

“Oh, no, I’m not suspicious of you at all, Mr. Reynolds –  _ Dennis _ . When was your ceremony?” 

“Eighteenth of May,” Mac tells her. “It was so beautiful. I’d always wanted a spring wedding, and Dennis was pushing for fall – mainly because he gets allergies, and was worried about puffy eyes ruining the wedding photos – but I ended up winning because we didn’t want to wait any longer for the ceremony.” 

Mac pulls out his phone. He’s set one of the photos from their Fake Wedding Day as his background, and quickly clears the text notifications from Charlie before showing the Producer. It’s one of the less aggressively staged, less blatantly gay images from the day, because the ones of them kissing were too much and sent Mac into Crisis Mode every time he unlocked his phone. Instead, this photo is Dennis fixing Mac’s bowtie (even though he’s still sure it didn’t  _ need  _ fixing), and there’s something about how soft Dennis looks that Mac…  _ likes _ ? Aesthetically, that is. Points are awarded only for how good of a phone background it makes, with those points being based primarily on the fact that Dennis’ face doesn’t look punchable in this photo. 

“It was a  _ fantastic  _ day,” Mac continues, pretty sure that gay guys use big words when they talk. “Although the catering company messed up our order and forgot the shrimp cocktails, which was  _ completely _ unacceptable.” 

Dennis squeezes his knee harder, and Mac knows it’s a signal to shut the fuck up, but Dennis can fuck right off, because he’s  _ selling this _ . 

“That’s lovely,” the Producer says, and Mac nods and locks his phone. “And the photo you submitted, do you want to tell me about this?” 

She slides a photo across the table, and god _ fucking _ dammnit. 

Dennis laughs, and Mac can hear his Charming Laugh cracking at the edges. “That’s actually… that’s actually not the photo we wanted to submit. I bet this was,  _ ha _ , I bet this was Dee.” He chuckles and shakes his fist in a classic  _ why-I-oughta _ , and Mac decides that yes, maybe they do oughta beat the shit out of Dee. “Maybe we could just,” Dennis shrugs, “describe the image we meant to submit.” 

The Producer hums. “I actually quite like this photo, Dennis. How about you tell me about this one, and depending where we sit, you can send the other one in.” 

It’s a photo taken on the morning of their wedding day, before they went to sign the papers at City Hall. Charlie had been fucking around with the camera, and it’d gotten so  _ old _ by that point that Mac was making a point of ignoring it completely. They’re behind the bar at Paddy’s, both nursing a beer, caught in mid-conversation. Mac remembers that they’d been talking about the worst alcohol you can drink, and he’d been in the middle of a small rant about apple cider, which is just beer for pussys. Given the context, Mac has trouble comprehending the look on Dennis’ face in the photo. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Dennis was looking at him with  _ an emotion _ . With, perhaps, a look of  _ strong like _ , and while it’s not an unfamiliar expression, it’s rare, and it’s nice. There’s nothing gay about the photo at all, and so he’s kinda confused why the Producer likes it.

“Um, well, this is Paddy’s Pub,” Dennis starts.

“The bar we own.” 

“Yeah, um, own with some of our other friends.”

“And that’s beer.”

“I’m pretty sure she knows what beer is, Mac.”

“I’m just making sure, dude. She asked us to explain it and I want to do a good job.”

“Anyway, if you look closely in this photo you can see our wedding rings –”

“Super badass.”

“– and, um. Actually, what is it exactly you want to know about this photo?” 

The Producer is smiling at them, but it’s in a kinda shifty way that Mac doesn’t trust. “Nothing in particular. You’ve done a good job. Who took the photo?” 

“Charlie,” Mac answers. “He’s been really annoying lately with the camera and the photos and shit.” 

“Our friend and co-owner,” Dennis clarifies. 

“I don’t even know where he got the camera. I’m surprised he can use it.”

“It is quite surprising.” 

“Maybe because there’s no  _ words _ you need –” 

“No, but, he probably would have had to read the instructions to learn how to use it –”

“Not even literate people read instructions.” 

“Maybe if you read the instructions you wouldn’t keep breaking our computer.”

“Okay, that wasn’t my fault –”

“So the Russian malware downloaded  _ itself _ –” 

“It might have!” 

“Malware doesn’t –”

“Even if I had read the instructions, there’s no way of knowing that Chilli Peppers album was gonna steal our bank details.”

“It wasn’t the  _ album _ that – you know, it doesn’t matter! Let’s just focus on this.”

Mac rolls his eyes. 

“I have to be honest with you Mr. and Mr. Reynolds,” the Producer says when Mac and Dennis shift their attention back to her. “I love your energy and dynamic. It’s very refreshing.” 

“What exactly do you mean by that,” Dennis shifts in his seat and laughs, and it’s now only 55% Charming at best, with a solid 30% Deranged and 25% Frantic. 

“Nothing bad, don’t be concerned. I just mean that you don’t seem to be putting on any airs. We get a lot of people in here who are pretending that their relationship is something it’s not.”

“Like fake marriages?” Mac asks on impulse.

She laughs. “No. God, no, nothing that extreme. I just mean that people present versions of themselves that they think we want to see, rather than being genuine.” She tucks the certificate and photo back into the folder. “I am very pleased that you two applied. We haven’t had many gay couples contact us.” 

Mac flinches, and he’s getting better at not defending himself every time someone calls him gay, but he’s only learning and despite doing his most hardest, there’s something that still makes him say, “We’re not gay.” 

Dennis digs his nails into Mac’s thigh so hard it feels close to drawing blood, even through the denim. He laughs. 40% Charming, 43% Deranged, 31% Frantic. Mac doesn’t need to be any good at math to know that Dennis is losing it. He wants to say  _ I told you so _ , as a fuck you because Dennis kept telling  _ Mac  _ to calm down, and saying that  _ Mac  _ was going to be the one to ruin it. Which, potentially, he just did, but that’s neither here nor there.

“What my husband means,” Dennis says, leaning forward and placing his palm, open, against Mac’s chest. “Is that we find labels restrictive. We don’t like to define our relationship as  _ just gay _ . For example, I’m not gay, even if  _ Mac _ very much is,” and Mac wants to throttle Dennis, but holds himself back because perhaps maybe he  _ is  _ fixing things. “I’m attracted to both women and men, I always have been. In fact, I’ve been with far more women than men.  _ But _ , it just so happened that the love of my life,” here he smiles at Mac, and his eyes are furious, “is a guy. Is Mac. Does that make me gay?” He spreads his arms for emphasis. “To  _ society _ , maybe. But society can be wrong!” 

“Oh,” the Producer says. “I see. So, what label do you prefer. Is same-sex couple more appropriate?” 

“Ah, you know, it’s a bit of a mouthful. Feel free to go with gay if you want, now that we’ve cleared all of  _ that  _ up.” 

Mac hadn’t realised that he’d calmed down until he does a complete one-eighty and feels all panicky again. The Producer asks some more questions, mostly logistical stuff, things about filming schedules, contracts, blah, blah, blah, and he lets Dennis answer. 

“Thank, you, Dennis, Mac,” she finishes, and there’s something about the order she puts their names in that rubs Mac the wrong way. “I’ll be in touch.” 

“Not if I’m in touch first!” Mac responds, in an effort to be charming and nonchalant.

She blinks. “Well… I suppose if you want to be, you do have my office number, but there’s no need for it.” 

“My husband is joking, again, of course.”

“Of course.” They’ve stood up and Mac is itching to open the door when the Producer says, “Actually, one last question.” Mac is ready to vibrate out of his skin. “Your marriage certificate says that your name, Mac, is Ronald Reynolds. Where does  _ Mac  _ come from?” 

This right here is why he’d wanted to go the full nine yards and legally change his first name as well as his second name at City Hall, but it was  _ expensive _ , and like shit he was going to ask Frank to finance a name change. 

“ _ Ronald McDonald _ ,” Mac mutters.

“Pardon?”

“ _ Ronald Mcdonald _ .”

“I’m sorry Mac, I’m still not catching that.” 

“His birth name is Ronald McDonald,” Dennis provides for him, and Mac hates the instant look of glee on the Producer’s face.

“Like the –” 

“Yes, like the burger clown. It’s very unfortunate, isn’t it baby?” 

“Well you  _ married  _ Ronald McDonald,” Mac retorts, and storms out before any more questions, queries, or comments can be made. 

“I’m sorry,” he hears Dennis say. “He can get a bit touchy about the whole name thing. There’s a lot of baggage with his parents and… it’s not my place to go into it, you understand.”

“Of course. Sorry for bringing it up.”

“Not at all. I look forward to hearing from you.” 

Mac is leaning against the wall outside the Producer’s office with his arms crossed when Dennis joins him. Dennis raises an eyebrow, and Mac grunts in response. Dennis glances towards the Producer’s office, and smiles deviously, and then he’s approaching Mac, detangling his crossed arms, and placing them behind his back in a sort of half-embrace. He doesn’t think before resting his hands on Dennis’ lower back, and chalks it down to the fact that his sweater (gifted by Mac) just feels really nice. 

“What are you doing?” Mac asks quietly.

“Shh, she can still see us,” Dennis whispers, his mouth inches from Mac’s ear, “So I’m going to kiss you, and you’re not going to freak out.” 

“Okay.” Because it does seem perfectly reasonable, and as a man of logic, Mac wouldn’t dream of disputing an action formed from pure reason.

Mac is still slouched slightly against the wall, making the height difference between him and Dennis even more pronounced than usual. He’s going to straighten himself out (and there’s definitely a double-entendre there), but then Dennis is running his lips along Mac’s cheekbone, peppering his face with a stream of painfully soft and painfully intimate kisses, until his lips are hovering just over Mac’s. Mac isn’t sure why he does it, other than his natural theatrical instincts demanding he put on a good show, but he doesn’t wait for Dennis to close the distance. His nose bumps awkwardly against Dennis’, and the angle in completely wrong, and he knows that this is fake, but it still probably measures in the Top 5 Kisses Mac has ever had, for reasons he isn’t ready to explore. He schedules in a fully fledged crisis about that fact for 11pm tonight, when he’ll be sufficiently drunk. One of Dennis’ hands is flat against Mac’s chest, and the other one is resting on his hip, the touch so slight that Mac doesn’t even realise it’s there until Dennis is bunching up the fabric of his shirt. 

He pulls back, and then kisses Dennis again, and it’s no more heated than the previous one, but this time they get the angle right, and it’s promoted to one of the Top 3 Kisses of Mac’s life. His chest is buzzing, and he’s struck with the sudden desire to stay here forever, and just keep kissing Dennis in the hallway of a television studio until God sends a storm to destroy them both. 

Dennis is smiling at him, and Mac would break it down as 30% Charming, 35% Frustrated, 10% Proud, and 20% Unknown, which is the part that bothers him. 

“Good kiss, bro,” Mac whispers against his lips, and kisses him once more to emphasise the fact. 

Dennis doesn’t reply, beyond a soft hum, and his hand running a trail down Mac’s front. He extracates himself from Mac’s embrace, and wordlessly heads down the hall. Mac doesn’t speak, and absently registers Dennis saying goodbye to the receptionist. He sits silently in the passenger seat of the Range Rover on their drive back to Paddy’s, and can’t help from glancing at Dennis, which naturally leads to thoughts about kissing him again, and he feels completely airless, and boneless, and Godless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know why i committed to chapter names because i'm struggling a lot. if at any point anyone thinks of a good name for any of my chapters pls let me know. consider this a crowd-sourcing kinda deal


	6. Straight Ahead, Then Turn Left at the Corner of Idiocy and Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Dennis practice their acting.

**4:15pm on a Wednesday, Philadelphia, PA**

 

“Oh  _ goddamnit _ ,” Dee shouts from the back office. “Goddamnit, sons of  _ bitches _ , goddamnit.” 

“Do you hear something?” Mac asks. He’s leaning against the bar, watching Dennis cut limes. 

“It might have been Dwayne,” Charlie suggests, referring to the stupid fucking parrot that’s been making the past week of Dennis’ life a living hell. After days of deliberation, Mac and Charlie had made the announcement that they were naming it after Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, due to some ridiculous stream of connections that only made sense to idiots. 

“No, I think it’s just Dee coming to the realisation that she’s ugly,” Dennis provides. 

As if on cue, Dee storms out. “Charlie, you shithead, idiot, you fucked this up for us. Goddamnit!” 

“Um, what exactly did I fuck up, Dee?” 

“The scheme! The marriage, you bastard! We got rejected. This is because of that whole ghoul thing you pulled in the interview –” 

“Oh, this is because of  _ me  _ is it, that’s rich.”

“– you kept going  _ on and on _ about the ghouls, and the goblins –”

“There were no goblins, for the record –” 

“– we could have been  _ rich. _ ”

“– and this is  _ definitely  _ not my fault, maybe if you tried being, I don’t know, more charming?”

“Oh,  _ I  _ need to be more charming do I?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“I’ll show you charming –”

“Please do.”

“I’ll show you charming, you wormsucking little bitch.”

“You know what, Dee, I want an atonement!” 

“Annulment,” Dennis corrects automatically, but then with a shared look of agreement with Mac decides that it’s probably best to shut up and just let this play out.

“Maybe if you could speak English we would have  _ won _ .” 

“I speak perfect English, I speak perfect English, Dee!” 

“And that  _ bird _ , goddamn Charlie.”

“Don’t you talk shit about Dwayne!” 

“ _ Dwayne! _ ” 

The dulcet tones of Rick Astley promptly interrupt the shouting, and Dennis holds up a hand to silence the rabble and pulls out his phone.   
“Well, well, well, it’s the studio.” He feigns surprise, and notices that Mac instantly stiffens. He deliberately ignores the gang as he answers the call, and leaves it off speaker because he wants to build anticipation. “Hello, Dennis Reynolds speaking,” 

“Hello Dennis,” says the Producer. “How are you?” 

“I’m doing great, thanks for asking.” This is a good sign. He has a feeling that pleasantries would have been skipped were they being rejected. Besides, he’s relatively confident. The stupid bitch ate up their entire act, despite the  _ sabotage _ and moments of Mac’s Gay Panic. 

“I guess I’ll just cut to the chase. We’d like to invite you and your husband to take part in our show, Dennis. I don’t like to get in the habit of giving too much personal feedback at this stage, but we absolutely adored how _ real _ you guys are.” 

“That’s wonderful to hear, thank you so much.” Dennis pretends he can’t see the gang watching and waiting with bated breath. 

“I’ll send through some more information soon. In the meantime enjoy your afternoon, Dennis, and extend my congratulations to Mac.” 

“I will. Have a good day.” 

He hangs up before the Producer has another chance to prolong the signoff. He lets all emotion fall from his face and turns slowly towards the gang. 

“How’d we do?” 

Dennis smirks. He straightens his back and becomes a grand being, feeling his consciousness expand upwards and outwards until he is a god, looking down on Philadelphia. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Once more, in peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility: but when the  _ blast of war  _ blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger. Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood! Disguise fair nature with _ hard rage _ –”

He’s just starting to ramp up when Mac says, “Are you doing the bit from Braveheart?” 

Dennis deflates, “No, it’s not Braveheart –”

“Yeah, it’s Independence Day, dude. He’s definitely doing a bit, but, you know, with the aliens and Will Smith?”

“Oh yeah, it is.”

“No, no, I was doing Henry the Fifth. I was doing Henry the Fifth, okay? Shakespeare? Have any of you idiots heard of Shakespeare? It doesn’t matter,” he throws his hands up in defeat. “We got accepted. We got on the show.” 

Charlie and Mac cheer, and then Dee kicks Charlie. “Don’t cheer for them!” 

Dennis watches Mac closely to gauge his reaction. He’s smiling, but it’s hesitant, and Dennis can practically hear his inner conflict between money and religion. And, if he’s in any mood to flatter himself (which he always is), he’s not above admitting that Mac is most likely factoring in the desire to make out with Dennis. It’s to be expected, really, when you combine the most repressed gay man of all time and the human embodiment of physical perfection. 

“So… what next?” Mac asks.

“Part A,” Dennis suggests.

“Act the shit out of this thing. Yeah.” 

“Yeah.” 

Later, when it’s just Mac and Dennis at the bar – Frank, Charlie and Dee having moved onto some new insane venture to do with buses and high-vis vests that Dennis had completely missed the lead-up to – Mac looks up from his beer, and Dennis knows instantly that shit is about to hit the fan. Or, maybe that’s an overstatement. But even if shit isn’t about to hit the fan,  _ something  _ certainly will.

“I think we’ve gotta practice more,” Mac mutters, refusing to meet Dennis’ eyes. “For the acting.”

And the thing hitting the fan is Mac’s dignity. 

“Bro, if you want to fuck me, you can just ask.” Mac flinches and starts to slide away from the bar. Dennis sighs and concedes. “Mac. Sit back down.”

He glares at Dennis and uncaps another beer. “Why’d you have to make it so gay? And besides, Dennis, I wasn’t talking about…  _ that _ .” 

The fact that Mac can’t seem to manage to say the word  _ fucking _ and  _ Dennis _ in the same sentence suggests that even if he wasn’t talking about that, he was certainly thinking it. Dennis can’t blame him, because given the chance, he’d definitely sleep with himself. There’s no sex on offer anywhere in Philadelphia – anywhere in  _ America _ , maybe – that’s better than Dennis Reynolds. 

“I was talking about… kissing,” Mac continues, jolting Dennis back from the beginnings of a fantasy where a clone-Dennis is sensually unbuttoning original-Dennis’ jeans. “Don’t get weird about this, dude.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who told the Producer that I wasn’t gay and almost fucked us both –” 

“That was an  _ accident _ .”

“I’m just saying,” Dennis holds up his hands in defence. “I think you need to practice not being an asshole every time someone calls you gay.” 

Mac just bites his lip, and doesn’t jump down Dennis’ throat with the standard  _ imnotgay _ , which is one point for Mac. 

“That’s what I’m  _ saying _ , Dennis,” Mac explains. “I need to get used to doing… the  _ gay things _ . The kissing and shit. And…” Mac hesitates, and picks at the rim of his beer bottle.

“And?”

“I think I’ve gotta start telling people I’m gay. You know, to practice.” 

Dennis raises an eyebrow. This is an interesting turn of events. While Dennis knows that Mac’s competitive, he honestly didn’t think that even the allure of riches would be enough to edge him out of the closet, even by an inch. 

“What people?”

“I don’t know. Just  _ people _ . Like… that chick at the Wawa who keeps hitting on me.” 

“You’re going to tell a chick that wants to bang you that you’re gay?” Dennis resents both Mac and the girl at the Wawa. She’s not really  _ that  _ hot, but the fact that she’s somehow into Mac and not  _ him _ (confirmed quite directly and verbally in an incident that nearly got him banned from the store) rubs him the wrong way. But maybe, he considers, if Mac is officially off the table – committed, in her eyes, to a life of sucking cock – maybe she’ll see reason and bang Dennis. He wouldn’t be a  _ second choice _ . Nothing like that. Rather, she’d realise that she’d been a fool the whole time. 

“I don’t  _ know _ ,” Mac whines, gesturing widely. 

“If that’s what you want to do, I’m not going to stop you.” 

Mac groans and bangs his head against the bar. “Can we make out and you not be a piece of shit about it? Don’t get all girly on me.”

Mark one for hypermasculinity and delusion. Mac is seemingly oblivious to the fact that the only one who ever brings up emotions and other girly crap is  _ him _ . But then, it’s always been that way, and Mac is really the only person with whom Dennis has ever talked about feelings and all that related bullshit, mostly because he’s so pushy and gives Dennis no choice. Dennis considers for barely a second before deciding that there’s no harm in letting Mac have this. In fact, it’ll probably be good in the long run. They want to be able to look natural and organic when they appear on camera, and part of that is working their way towards the kinds of kisses that people who have been together for years give each other. Not that Dennis really knows what those sorts of kisses are like, his longest relationship best measured in the unit of weeks, rather than months or years, but he can  _ guess _ . 

He’s starting to move around from behind the bar when Mac looks up at him. “Where are you going?”

“Stay there,” Dennis demands, and Mac is opening his mouth to say something in response when Dennis abruptly presses his body against Mac’s side, one hand set on the bar, half caging him in. “Turn around.” 

Mac gulps, and glances at Dennis’ lips. “Okay.” He places his beer down on the bar with a resounding thud, and adjusts himself on the stool so he’s facing Dennis. His knees are set apart just far enough that Dennis is able to sidle forward and push them apart further, inserting himself in the gap between Mac’s thighs.

He sees Mac’s dick twitch, and  _ goddamnit  _ the ill-timed boners every time Mac thinks about men are going to have to be something they address before they go on camera. But that’s something for later, and right now, Dennis decides to concentrate on things he can control. Namely, the position of Mac’s hands, which Dennis grabs, dragging his fingers slowly over the skin of Mac’s palm, and places them on his hips. Things he can control, like the look of pathetic ruin and desire in Mac’s eyes, which Dennis can intensify by knotting his finger’s in Mac’s hair. Things he can control, like the slight gasp Mac lets out when Dennis leans closer and presses a kiss on the base of Mac’s jaw. 

His beard tickles Dennis’ lips. On the few other occasions that Dennis has kissed men, he’s preferenced the clean-shaven, because beard burn is a bitch. But, when it’s Mac, he’ll accept the consequences – really, it’s nothing colour-correcting concealer can’t fix – because the way Mac’s hands tighten on Dennis’ hips, push below the hem of his shirt, press against his skin, is exhilarating. 

“If you’re gonna kiss me, hurry up,” Mac mutters, and Dennis hates, hates,  _ hates _ that Mac is talking, and hates that he  _ knows for certain  _ Mac is the kind of person to talk during sex as well, and hates that for a fraction of a second he’s not able to stamp down the idea of having sex with Mac. It wouldn’t be difficult. They could relocate to the back room, he could lean Mac against the desk, unzip his jeans, go down on him, get Mac to reciprocate with a handjob at least. He pushes that thought away. 

Dennis decides to drag out the moments before he kisses Mac, just to make a point. To show that he’s completely in control of himself and the situation. He’s not going to give Mac what he wants, and nibbles at the skin of Mac’s neck, swiping his tongue over the marks his teeth leave. He wonders whether he could make Mac come like this, without touching him and without kissing him. 

“You’re being a bitch,” Mac grunts, and then his hands aren’t on Dennis’ hips anymore, they’re in his hair, and he’s pulling Dennis’ head up and slamming their mouths together. Their noses crash painfully, and Dennis’ first thought is that Mac, that asshole, better not break Dennis’ face. His second thought gets lost when Mac bites his bottom lip. 

“ _ Ow _ ,” Dennis hisses.

“‘S what you get,” Mac murmurs, and then runs his tongue over the bite. 

Dennis wonders how Mac’s fragile Catholic brain is justifying this right now. Dennis is lucky. He doesn’t need the approval of Mac’s God to kiss Mac back, harder and messier. God isn’t watching when Dennis pulls back and breathes against Mac’s lips, feeling him shiver against Dennis. God doesn’t give a  _ fuck _ when Dennis kisses him again, deciding that breathing is significantly less important than feeling Mac fall apart. 

If this were anyone else, anywhere else, in literally any other situation, Dennis would close the gap between them, press their chests together, grind his dick against Mac’s thigh. But he  _ can’t _ . This is his best friend of twenty years and  _ husband,  _ fuck. There’s too much at stake here to risk it all just to get laid. Too much at stake  _ financially _ . He doesn’t give a shit about Mac and his feelings.

He doesn’t give a shit about Mac, and so it’s easy to keep his cool when Mac runs his tongue over the roof of Dennis’ mouth, and presses his fingers into the notches of Dennis’ spine. He’s a  _ bit _ turned on, but it’s nothing special. He’s in complete control of the situation, and is letting Mac set the pace for purely strategic reasons. However, Mac  _ is _ a much better kisser than Dennis had anticipated. Their first kiss had been too coated in performance anxiety to be much of anything for Dennis, and their second kiss had been soft, and slow, and while undeniably excellent, it hadn’t been the same as  _ this.  _

When Mac pulls back for air, Dennis chuckles. “You’re good at kissing men, Mac.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m good at kissing everyone. That’s why chicks dig me.” Mac kisses the corner of Dennis’ lips, and then whispers, “You’re fucking incredible, dude. Kisses are definitely up there. You know. Top fifty at least.” 

Any kiss Dennis gives should be number one. Anything less is either a disgrace or a lie. 

“I’m the best kisser in Philadelphia, Mac.” 

He kisses Mac again, this time slower, to emphasise his point.

“Bullshit.” Mac’s voice is hoarse, and his lips are swollen red. “I’m better.”

“Prove it.” 

To his credit, Mac commits himself fully and wholeheartedly to most things he tries. It’s with this same intensity that he throws himself headfirst into proving to Dennis that he’s the best kisser. Dennis refuses to concede that maybe, for once, Mac’s claim was grounded in truth. Dennis often isn’t one for kissing, especially when he knows it isn’t leading to sex immediately afterwards. Making out without getting laid has always seemed pointless. He’s only tolerating Mac’s fingers gently stroking his cheekbones, in complete contrast to the violence of his kiss, and Mac’s ankle hooking around Dennis’ calf to drag him closer, because he’ll get off in other ways, later. It’s all about the long game, and winning money is almost as gratifying as an orgasm, which is why it’s easy to veto his dick’s decision to get hard, and force it  _ not  _ to do that. 

Dennis hears the door to Paddy’s open, but doesn’t have time to disentangle himself from Mac before it’s very clear that Dee, Frank and Charlie have seen exactly what’s going on, and Dee is wasting no time chortling at them like a goddamn asshole piece of shit. 

“Oooh  _ shit _ ,” she shouts, pointing at them. “You were going to bang.” 

“We were  _ not  _ going to bang, you bitch,” Dennis defends. Mac is squirming, clearly itching to distance himself both physically and socially from Dennis in this moment. But Dennis isn’t going to let him. He keeps his arms draped around Mac, and it’s to test him, Dennis decides, well after it’s become clear that it’s something he’s  _ doing _ , regardless of whether there’s a good reason or not. But it’s definitely to see whether Mac can handle maintaining the act under pressure, and not because he’s hoping the gang will turn around and leave so they can continue where they left off.

“Can you please not bang on the bar,” Charlie asks, apparently having missed the important and foundational fact that they  _ weren’t going to bang _ . “I just cleaned it, dude.” 

He was kidding himself, and it’s obvious that the gang aren’t going to fuck off, and let Dennis have this  _ one thing  _ to himself. Dennis drops his arms to his side and steps back from Mac, leaning his back against the bar. Mac quickly turns so he’s facing the bar in a futile effort to hide his boner, and necks the remainder of his beer. “You couldn’t pay me to sleep with Dennis,” Mac lies. “I’m not into dudes, and I’m busy loving God.” 

“Isn’t this whole thing just you whoring yourself out to Dennis for pay?” Frank asks. 

“I’m not – no-one here is whoring themselves out, Frank,” Mac defends. 

They’re all idiots. Dennis isn’t sure sometimes why he associates himself with these absolute morons. For the next five minutes, it feels like Mac and Dennis vs. The Gang, and it’s a wonder no one motions to take it to arbitration. It’s him and Mac trying to explain the necessity of platonic practice-kissing, and the gang accusing them both of being at least a  _ bit  _ gay, which might be true, but doesn’t hold the connotations the gang seems to  _ think  _ it does. 

And then as quickly as the argument started, it ends, and they move on to arguing about the difference between a mouse and a rat, and godammnit, he doesn’t know how they got here. He doesn’t know how they got onto this topic, but he equally doesn’t know how this became their  _ lives _ . If someone had told Dennis twenty years ago that he’d own a bar with some of the biggest losers from high-school, that he’d be married to his white-trash weed dealer, that he’d have a gaping hole in his middle that sex and getting high had stopped filling, that he was, in every way that matters, single, broke, and without any idea where his future was heading, he’d have laughed in their face.

Since this scheme begun, his file on Mac has expanded notably. Most notably, additions have been made to the Sexual Behaviours section (Mac likes to bite. Mac responds well to public displays of affection), to Physicality (Mac’s skin runs hot), and to Belief System (Mac is willing to spit in the face of his God and religion for the promise of money. Mac’s hatred of homosexuality arises only when convenient). 

When Dennis begun Mac’s file, he had no idea they’d still be in each other’s orbit twenty years later. Paddy’s Pub, their shared apartment, their goddamn fucking marriage – he couldn’t have predicted any of it. He’d expected to throw the file in the bottom of his cabinet, along with his entries on every other imbecile from high school.  But, this is where they are, still orbiting. His gravitational field and Mac’s are symbiotic. Dee calls it codependency, but Dennis rejects that. It’s nature. It’s has to be. Dennis doesn’t believe in God, but he believes in evolution, and that all things are founded in a combination of nature and nurture. He knows that there was nothing in the way he was raised, and in the series of choices he’s made, that can account for his continued entanglement with Mac. Something in his evolution, in his biology, complements Mac’s. That  _ has to _ be it. Maybe it’s his own intelligence matching Mac’s utter idiocy. Maybe it’s his charm and charisma as a foil to Mac’s sheer social ineptitude. 

Sometimes when Dennis imagines the universe, he thinks of himself as the sun, with the gang as planets hurtling around him. The girls he meets are comets, hot and firey and fast, and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He took an astronomy elective in college. Or, more accurately, he _ failed  _ an astronomy elective in college. But, he learnt enough to understand the genius of his own metaphor. Dennis is no longer present in whatever bullshit argument the gang are having. His body is there, but  _ he _ isn’t, and it’s from that far away place where good ideas and awful thoughts are born that he reconsiders his metaphor. If Dennis is the sun, he wonders whether, possibly, they’re a dual star system. Mac doesn’t shine as bright, of course, but he’s at the centre of the galaxy with Dennis, and they spin together in a natural harmony that no one else, not Dee, not Charlie, not Frank, not any of those stupid TV people, will ever be able to comprehend. 

It’s from that far away place that Dennis forgets for a moment why he hates Mac. Forgets for a moment that he ever hated Mac at all. Forgets for a moment that he’s capable of anything except an intense and overwhelming desire to never let Mac leave, never let him stop being  _ here _ , as an essential part of Dennis. 

He kisses Mac again later that evening, and it’s a new category, dissimilar from each of the previous three. He’s starting to wonder whether each new kiss with Mac will be unique. He’s certain that he’s going to start an on-paper record so he can hopefully bring some sort of classification and control to the whole thing. This kiss, it’s almost like the one at the TV studio, but this time it’s private, just him and Mac alone in their kitchen, Mac having just yawned and said he’s going to bed. Dennis grabs Mac’s wrist and raises an eyebrow, and Mac seems to understand immediately what Dennis is asking. He doesn’t protest when Dennis gently presses their lips together. This kiss, it’s quick, and he only lingers for a second before pulling back. He grins at Mac, and gives him a friendly pat on the back, and it remains casual, which is good. That’s what Dennis wants. When Mac has left the room, Dennis does four shots of vodka in quick succession, and it has nothing to do with Mac, but successfully dulls the ache around the edges of the hole in his middle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally meant to be the introductory prelude to what is now Chapter 7, but when combined it came out at over 8k and so I split them in two. So if it feels like not much happens here, I guess that's why.
> 
> Also, I highkey hate this chapter and also couldn't think of a good title for it so I guess we're here now!
> 
> But anyway I'm actually v excited for Chapter 7 and 8 because o man they got me feeling all sorts of ways.


	7. Mac and Dennis Fight Homophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Dennis attend a soiree, create gay rights, and incidentally fulfil the romantic subplot of a B-List action movie.

**7pm on a Friday, Philadelphia, PA**

 

“She definitely said there’d be an open bar?” Mac confirms, rifling through his drawer for a pair of good socks.

“And canapes,” Dennis calls from the bathroom. 

“I hope they have those little burgers.”

“They’ll have the little burgers.”

“They  _ better  _ have the little burgers.” 

It’s been a week since they got the news about the TV show, and have been invited to some fancy party, and they aren’t even going to be filmed yet, so Mac’s only on board for the open bar and allure of little burgers. He is a bit excited though, because this  _ will _ be a chance to do some ocular profiling on their enemies, the other contestants. If it weren’t a cocktail affair – which Dennis said meant a suit without a tie, which just seems completely besides the point if you ask Mac – he’d wear the duster, just so those assholes knew exactly who they were up against. 

He’s kissed Dennis eighteen times now. Approximately. He hasn’t been keeping any sort of strict count, he just kind of has an  _ instinct  _ for these things. He’s kissed Dennis enough times that he’s ready to do it in public and not freak out. Maybe. Probably. Despite what Dee keeps saying, two bros kissing isn’t gay when it’s part of a long con. It’s the same as being undercover, like in Donnie Brasco. Except instead of the FBI and the mob and Al Pacino doing criminal shit in the name of justice, it’s Mac and reality TV and gay kissing. Mac forgets where he was going with the metaphor, and now just really wants to watch Donnie Brasco.

“Will we have time for a movie later?” Mac calls.

Dennis pops his head around the bathroom door and levels Mac with a  _ look _ . “Probably not.”

“In the mood for some undercover cop  _ action _ ,” Mac punches his fist upwards to signify all things badass and manly and awesome about undercover cop movies. 

“Well, it’s your turn to choose next movie night. I have been wanting to watch Reservoir Dogs, actually.”

Mac frowns. He doesn’t understand that movie, and Dennis always gets annoyed when Mac pauses to ask questions about the plot. “Maybe,” he offers, even though he already knows he’s gonna pick something more better and less confusing than a Tarantino film. 

By this point he’s upended his whole drawer, and still can’t find his good socks. “Do you know where my good socks are, dude?”

“Which ones are your good socks?” Dennis has finished his makeup, and is sat down on the couch, scrolling on his phone. Mac goes and stands behind him, and watches for a moment while he likes photos of hot chicks on Facebook. 

“The grey ones.”

“Descriptive.”

“The ones you got me, bro.” 

Dennis looks up at him. “Oh, so your only pair without holes in them. Yeah, they’re in the hamper. Don’t wear them. You’ll stink, and then I’ll get all jammed up, and you know how it’ll go.”

Mac frowns. “They’re my good ones.” 

“Borrow some of mine, if you must.” 

“That won’t be weird?”

“Dude, we’re married. That’s the kind of shit that married couples do. It’ll add to the act.” 

Mac doesn’t point out the clear flaw in that argument, which is that no one there is going to  _ know  _ that Mac’s socks are Dennis’ socks because his good socks were dirty, but Dennis is also right about the big picture of it, that this is something married couples do. Maybe it’ll help Mac feel more married. 

And so Mac wears Dennis socks, and decides that it’s definitely appropriate to kiss Dennis on the way out the door as a thank-you, and as one last practice before they have to do this in front of the world. As usual, Dennis kisses Mac back without hesitation, and Mac’s body feels like syrup. 

They drive by Dee’s apartment, and then Frank and Charlie’s, and soon the car is full with the chatter of the gang, and the steady bassline of some 80’s pop song Mac can’t name. He kinda wishes they weren’t coming, because he’s worried having the gang here will throw off his mojo. He’s able to get in a  _ zone  _ where kissing Dennis comes naturally, and where the action itself is so nice that Mac forgets God long enough to really sell the thing. Mac thinks that if he were to get a role in a movie, and managed to get in that exact same zone when kissing the hot love-interest, who’d be Megan Fox or one of those other chicks that the guys on bodybuilding forums agree are the most hottest, he’d be in the running to win an Oscar. He’s just  _ that  _ good of an actor.

But having the gang there interrupts his flow, because it’s really hard to focus on pretending Dennis is a chick when Dee is pointing and laughing. (It’s also really hard to focus on pretending Dennis is a chick when the gang aren’t there, but Mac is actively ignoring that, and it doesn’t count anyway because he always jacks off later and definitely always thinks about girls then). 

The TV studio have booked one of those weird conference venues that Mac doesn’t really understand the normal use of. He doesn’t get what kind of people – other than TV studios putting on parties – use these kinds of places. He guesses the space would be good for something like a dance-off, or a martial arts battle, and,  _ yeah _ , he can picture himself beating the shit out of some ninjas in the main party room, and then throwing the boss through the windows and fighting him on the balcony. And then Mac would throw the boss-ninja over the edge, and the dramatic music would swell, and he’d get to kiss the love interest, who for a second is Dennis, but then he concentrates harder and it’s Megan Fox or some other hot chick, and then the camera would zoom out and pan over the view of the Philly skyline. Later, he’s going to write that scene down and make sure they include it in the next Lethal Weapon movie.

“Dude, pay attention,” Dennis pinches Mac’s hip. 

There’s now only one other group between them and the check-in table and  _ oh _ , this is about to get real. But Mac is  _ so  _ ready because he’s the best actor he’s ever met, if he doesn’t count that time he saw a guy who might have been George Foreman from a distance. 

“Dennis and Mac Reynolds,” Dennis says. Mac feels kind of weirdly spaced out at the moment, and can’t wait to take advantage of the open bar. He needs a few beers to make his brain less foggy. It takes him a second to realise that Dennis had been talking to the guy at the table, who just passed Mac a badge with his name on it. Or, not his  _ real _ name, but  _ Mac Reynolds _ , which if he’s being honest is ten thousand times better than  _ Ronald McDonald _ or even  _ Ronald Reynolds _ . 

He notices that Frank, Dee and Charlie’s badges all have their own names with  _ Reynolds  _ written underneath, which means if they fuck up in any way, there’s no way Mac can just deny knowing them at all, which had been his game plan. He also notices that there’s way more people here than he’d expected, and he supposes he should have better visualised what six couples, their families, and everyone from the TV studio would look like. Mac’s not  _ freaking out  _ exactly, because he’s not a bitch, but he’s definitely not having the time of his life. 

“Dennis, can I talk to you for a second?” Mac asks.

Dennis nods and gestures dismissively at the gang. “Go get drinks and try not to burn anything down for five minutes.”

Dee snorts. “The only ones likely to burn anything down are  _ you _ ,” she pauses, like she’s expecting something. “With your flaming homosexuality,” she clarifies. She waits again for a laugh. No-one laughs. 

Dennis gives Dee a look, and then grabs Mac’s hand which – okay. Okay. It makes sense when he thinks about it for a second, and remembers where they are, and remembers that to these people, this is something Dennis and Mac do all the time but…  _ okay _ . 

“Don’t freak out on me, bro,” Dennis whispers, when they’ve reached a corner of the room, and doesn’t stop holding Mac’s hand. 

“I’m not freaking out,” Mac lies. 

“Then what do you want to talk about?” 

“I –” Mac has actually kind of forgotten, and he isn’t even sure whether there was anything he wanted to specifically say in the first place, or if he just needed to be with Dennis for a second, without the gang breathing down his neck, and without the TV bitches expecting anything from him. But he needs a cover, because otherwise Dennis will think he  _ is  _ freaking out (and he  _ isn’t _ ), which is why he says: “When this whole thing is over, I was thinking I’d keep my name as Mac Reynolds. If that’s okay with you.” 

Dennis blinks. “That – That’s what you wanted to talk about? Where’s this coming from?”

Mac shrugs, and he can feel himself starting to blush. Thank God and St Patrick for dim lighting. 

“Dude, I don’t care what you do with my name,” Dennis continues. “I mean, I already share Reynolds with  _ Frank and Dee _ , so you may as well have it too. Think about this shit later, man, we have more important things to worry about.”

“Oh,” Mac says. “Okay. Good. Yeah, other things.” 

He suddenly has the best idea, and knows exactly how to get into the groove of things. Find his mojo. Embrace the undercover role, and earn his Oscar. 

“Can we kiss, now?” Mac asks, and it comes out less as a casual suggestion, which is what he wanted, and more as an impatient demand. “Just to make sure we’re making the right first impression,” he adds quickly. 

Dennis’ gaze darkens and he glances down at Mac’s lips. Mac swallows, and squeezes Dennis’ hand. After a second, he nods, and Mac wastes no time leaning in and kissing Dennis. He hopes it looks like the kind of kiss someone would give their husband. When Dennis’ tongue slides over the roof of Mac’s mouth, it’s easy to forget they’re acting, which is exactly how Mac planned it. He’s so smart and good at planning things. 

“You good now?” Dennis murmurs against Mac’s lips. 

“I’m always good.” 

Dennis pulls away further, and Mac frowns and is about to suggest one more kiss just to make sure it worked, but then his eyes wander toward the centre of the room. “Dude, they have little burgers!” 

He only lets go of Dennis’ hand so he can grab both a little burger and a glass of champagne. He’s being  _ classy  _ tonight, and will probably switch to beer later, but for now is enjoying the way the bubbles reach his brain way faster than beer does. It’s basic biology – the reason champagne is bubbly is because of helium, so it gets in your blood and travels upwards faster.  He explains this to Dennis, who doesn’t believe him, but Dennis is a bitch, and just because he went to College doesn’t mean he has any right to pretend like Mac isn’t more smart about alcohol. Mac manages to drink two champagnes in quick succession before the waitress clues on and walks away with the tray, giving Mac a judging look. Stupid bitch. He just wants to be drunk faster, and it’s her job to  _ make him _ drunk. 

The rest of the gang are posted up by the bar, and they don’t seem to be causing any chaos, which surprises Mac. They’re even yelling quietly enough that he can barely even hear the conversation.

Dennis arm snakes around Mac’s waist. “We should go mingle,” he suggests. “Scope out the competition.”

Mac nods. “True, dude. I can’t even tell which of these people we’re versing.” 

“I’ve managed to get a read on some of them. That perky blonde over there, and the disgustingly average schmuck by her side, those are the Myer’s. Typical all-American, high-school sweethearts.” Mac wonders how Dennis knows this, but doesn’t question it because Dennis is the best at this kind of shit. He can just look at people and  _ know stuff  _ about them, like some kind of badass detective, or psychic wizard. “You can just  _ tell  _ by that body that she was a cheerleader in high-school, probably in College too. Not that she’ll ever use that College degree.” Dennis scoffs. “Oh no, she’ll be pregnant before the year’s out. They’ll have two, maybe three kids, her body will be ruined, her husband will have an affair with one of her friend’s from the PTA, and they’ll try. They’ll  _ try _ to stay together – for the sake of  _ the children  _ – but then finally, just as their eldest is leaving for College, the divorce papers will be filed. He’ll move in with his mistress, and she’ll live the rest of her life in a spiral of depression and alcoholism.” 

“How do you know all that, dude?”

Dennis shrugs. “They’re obviously from the suburbs. That’s how ninety percent of people like them end up.”

“What about them?” Mac asks, nodding in the direction of a black couple. That could potentially be a problem. Him and Dennis are meant to be the most diverse ones, and they can’t have other stealing the liberal votes. 

“What? I don’t know, man. I don’t know about everyone.”

Mac has managed to grab another glass of champagne from a different waitress (take  _ that _ , stupid bitch from before) when a voice behind them says, “Excuse me, hi, are you the Reynolds?”

Dennis’ hand leaves Mac waist, and then Mac turns around several seconds later than Dennis like a complete idiot, and it looks stupid, which is all Dennis’ fault. 

“We are,” Dennis says. “Who’s asking?”

“Simon Washington,” the dude extends his hand, and Mac doesn’t trust him one bit. He commences an ocular patdown, and concludes that the guy is a pussy. When neither Mac or Dennis make any move to return the handshake, he awkwardly withdraws his arm. “Um, okay. I, uh, I’m one of the other participants. That’s my wife, Esther, over there, talking with some of the production team.” 

Mac glances over, but can’t even tell which one his wife is, because there’s way too many women in this room. 

“I’m Dennis, and this is my other half, Mac,” Dennis provides, putting on the same smile he used on the Producer.

“Good to meet you, fellas.” Mac raises an eyebrow at the guy, and knows he looks super badass and threatening, and hopes this dude isn’t too stupid to realise that Mac is giving him a subtle signal to fuck off. “You’re the owners of that Irish bar in South Philly, is that right? Uh, Patrick’s Pub?”

“Paddy’s Pub,” Mac corrects automatically. 

“My bad. I, uh, I actually recognised you two. I visited your bar a few months ago, it was… different.” 

Mac doesn’t like this dude’s tone. He isn’t sure what kind of person would just randomly  _ visit  _ Paddy’s unless they were after something. Inspiration hits, and Mac realises that this guy is almost definitely a spy for the TV network, trying to catch them out on their fake marriage. Mac’s not gonna let him get any useful intel. 

He makes sure to speak louder, so the bug the guy is definitely wearing picks up his voice. “The only thing we value above customer satisfaction at Paddy’s is security,” Mac says. “Which is why, I, as Head of Security, am always on the lookout for  _ suspicious _ people. Like  _ spies _ , for example.”

Dennis glances at Mac, and then fixes his Charming Smile back on the dude. “Right. Well, uh, we’re glad you enjoyed your time at Paddy’s.”

“Enjoyed is a strong word.”

“You know what else is a strong word? Words, plural, actually, if we’re being technical” Dennis asks. “Fuck off. Be gone! Leave us alone!” He swats his hands in Simon’s direction, and he blinks and takes a step backwards. 

“Sorry? I just wanted to ask you a question. I was curious about something, it’s not important though, if...” he trails off and shrugs.

Mac meets Dennis’ eyes, which are telling him  _ let’s get rid of this jabroni _ , but Mac sends him back a look that says  _ hang on, let me do my thing _ .

“I’ll allow it,” Mac says.

“It’s really not that important, I just… I was wondering when you guys got together? It’s just that I remember you,” he points at Dennis, “leaving the bar with a girl that evening. And you,” he gestures to Mac, “were there. It didn’t seem like you were a couple then. Sorry for being intrusive, I’m just curious.”

This dude is definitely a spy. He’s like the worst Bond villain ever, because no Bond villain was ever lame enough to wear light blue chinos, and if they had been, it’d at least be offset by a really cool helicopter, or a gold tooth, or a tank of eels or some shit. 

“You must be mistaken,” Dennis says through gritted teeth. 

“I don’t think I am, it was definitely –”

“ _ You must be mistaken _ !” Dennis shouts, and Mac smiles awkwardly at a few of the people whose heads turn toward them. 

“He’s right you know,” Mac tells the dude. “That definitely didn’t happen. I’d remember if you’d been in our bar. It’s my  _ job _ .” 

“I’m not lying, I just –”

“What, you just don’t believe that two men can be in love?” Dennis asks. Mac isn’t sure what angle Dennis is going for here, but he supports it regardless, given the instant look of fear on the dude’s face.

“No, that’s –”

“Are you saying that my husband and I don’t have the same right to marriage and happiness as you and your wife?” Dennis’ voice is getting louder, and now the people staring at them seem to be rooting for Mac and Dennis. Being gay is a good weapon sometimes, Mac supposes. 

“You’re misunderstanding –”

“I’m misunderstanding?  _ I’m  _ misunderstanding? I’m misunderstanding your blatant homophobia, Simon?”

“No, I –” 

“Homophobia’s not in, dude,” Mac provides. 

“Yeah, leave them alone, asshole,” some woman shouts from nearby. 

Mac thinks of the metaphor of a deer in headlights, and decides that Simon is a deer that’s already been run over by a 4X4. He mutters an apology and backs away, all but sprinting toward a clump of women, one of whom must be his wife. 

“Bro, that was awesome!” Mac whispers to Dennis. “You totally showed him. Gay people just get whatever they want. This is  _ awesome _ .” 

Mac manages to snag another two glasses of champagne from a waitress and is comfortably double-parked when the Producer walks up to them and starts apologising for the  _ appalling behaviour  _ of their fellow contestant, and Mac isn’t really listening. He’s thinking about how else they can exploit the gay thing to win stuff. He wonders if he got arrested for something badass, like arson, they’d let him out of jail if he said he was gay. He’ll have to ask Charlie, but he’s pretty sure imprisoning gay people is against the law in America. 

After that, the party is actually pretty boring. Mac realises that he hates mingling with people, and his mouth got sore from fake smiling, so he’s now resigned just to glare at everyone. He decides to switch to beer, mainly just to make things interesting, and gives Dennis a quick kiss on the lips before he can overthink it, and then hurries to the bar. 

He finds Charlie sitting at a stool, drawing in a tiny notebook. “Dude, what are you doing?” 

“Scoping out the competition. If you and Dennis win we can use the money to replace the heating in Paddy’s. I’m sick of freezing my ass off every time I fall asleep in the basement. It sucks dude.”

Mac frowns. “If we win, we’re keeping the money for  _ us _ . Also, maybe if you stopped drinking paint you wouldn’t pass out in the basement as often, and then –”

“Oh, look at  _ Saint Mac _ , who doesn’t drink paint –”

“You do realise that’s not a normal thing to do, don’t you?” 

“Here I was, trying to help you out, taking notes, and you start  _ judging me _ –”

“Okay, yeah, sorry dude,” Mac claps Charlie on the back and peers over at his notes. He decides it’s not worth having the  _ don’t drink paint _ argument right now, and maybe, by some miracle, Charlie has actually noticed some useful stuff. “What’ve you got here, buddy?” 

“So firstly, it totally looks like Dennis is into you dude.”

Mac blinks. “That’s the whole  _ point _ , Charlie.” 

“No, I mean like  _ really  _ into you.”

“It’s  _ meant to  _ look like we’re really into each other. We’re,” he drops his voices to a whisper, and glances around to make sure they aren’t being listened to before continuing, “pretending to be gay married. Gay married dudes are usually really into each other.” 

“That’s not what –”

“What’ve you found on the other couples?” 

Charlie starts like he’s going to say something else, but then shakes his head and responds with, “Some good intel.” 

“Like?” 

“So this man, Derek, has a shellfish allergy. Now what I’m thinking is we slip into his house, I’m thinking tomorrow, hell, even tonight if you’re up for it – I know I’m up for it. We slip into his house and grind up some shellfish and mix it in with his coffee grounds. He wakes up tomorrow, he makes a cup of coffee, and bing, bang, boom, his throat is swelling up, he’s out of the competition.”

Mac double checks that no one is listening to them, because  _ goddamnit  _ this is the kind of shit that could get them in trouble and ruin the whole thing. This is why he didn’t want the gang here. “Jesus Christ, Charlie. We’re not murdering anyone.” 

“We don’t know that he’ll die. He looks like the kinda guy with good health insurance –”

“Not the point!” 

“Okay, okay, we lower the dosage. Maybe just rub the shellfish around the rim of his coffee mug instead –”

“No! Stop. Have you found anything out that’ll… I don’t know. Help us get the upper hand without  _ hospitalising  _ someone?”

Charlie shrugs. “I don’t know, dude. Most of this is about allergies.” 

Mac doesn’t want to question him further. “Okay. Okay, do your weird allergy shit. Just don’t murder anyone. Or try to murder anyone.” 

He can feel the beginnings of a headache forcing its way past the fog of champagne. He hates everyone in this room, apart from Dennis and Charlie. He can’t see Dee and Frank anywhere, and even if he could, he’s not 100% sure that they’d be discounted from his blanket hatred of everyone. All these people here are boring, and vanilla, and Mac bets at least half of them are accountants, or work in HR, or are hairdressers, or shit like that. It’s not that he feels out of place, because he’s a very classy and sophisticated sort of man, who would fit in at parties way fancier than this, but he just doesn’t  _ like  _ this. 

Beer in hand, he walks up to Dennis, who’s talking to some group of people, and Mac can’t be bothered checking their name tags to work out whether they’re contestants, or family members, or TV studio people. He tugs on Dennis sleeve to get his attention, and without looking in his direction, Dennis slides their fingers together. 

“You’ve met my husband, Mac?” Dennis asks the group, and  _ fuck  _ Mac is getting sick of introducing himself.   
“I don’t think I have,” a man on the left says, and Mac mutters  _ hello _ and nods at him, and is thankful for his lack of free hands because it means he doesn’t have to do a handshake. 

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Dennis says. “The Range Rover is one of the most beautiful vehicles you can –”

“Dennis,” Mac interrupts. 

“What?” Dennis sounds sharp, and annoyed, but then follows it up with a honeyed smile, meant more for onlookers than for Mac.

“Can we go outside? I’m getting a headache.”

Dennis frowns, and glances back at the group. “Sorry, gentlemen, I’m going to have to leave you. We’ll talk cars another time.” 

“Ah, the ol’ ball and chain,” one of the men says, and the others laugh. Dennis chuckles, and Mac thinks it’s just to be polite, because he’s already dragging Mac in the direction of the terrace. 

Dennis leads him to a quiet corner of the balcony, and already the fresh air has made Mac’s head feel less weird. He finishes his beer and throws it over the banister, satisfied to hear it smash against the pavement below. 

Mac isn’t looking at Dennis, and he isn’t touching him, and is suddenly unsure of where to put his hands. The chatter from inside is a dull hum in the background. If he concentrates, he can hear traffic in the distance, and Dennis’ breath close by, even and calming. 

Dennis’ hands reach up to cup Mac’s face, “Hey, what’s wrong, baby boy?” 

Mac swallows. He hates this. He wants to just be  _ Mac and Dennis _ for a moment, rather than  _ Mac and Dennis Reynolds _ . He’s tired, and drunk, and weirdly drained from this whole thing, and just wants to go home, and sit on the couch with Dennis, and talk shit about some movie they’ve seen a thousand times. 

Dennis strokes his thumb over Mac’s cheek. “Talk to me, Mac.” 

Mac sighs, and deliberately doesn’t overthink the way his hands gravitate to Dennis’ waist. “I want to go home,” he whispers. 

“Hold out for another few hours. I’m making progress with the station execs. I really think I’ve gotten in their heads.” 

Mac pouts. “Everyone here’s a bitch.” 

“Hey, we got to argue with that guy, didn’t we? That was pretty fun.”

Mac has to reluctantly agree. “I  _ was _ hoping I’d get into a fight –”

“I know you were.”

“But it wasn’t as badass as it could’ve been, because I could have totally taken out that asshole, you know? I was thinking before how awesome it’d be to film a karate scene for Lethal Weapon here, dude.” 

Dennis’ hands have slid down to rest on Mac’s neck, where his fingers creep under the collar of his shirt and loop around the chain of Mac’s crucifix. “That would be pretty badass,” Dennis agrees, smiling at Mac. 

It’s a good smile, Mac decides after a second of deliberation. He’d gotten used to Dennis’ Charming Smile tonight, and other variations of him being all fake for asshole people, and this isn’t  _ that _ . It’s the smile he reserves for special occasions, like when Mac comes home with a movie Dennis has been wanting to see, or when Mac comes up with a good idea for a plan, or when Dennis wakes up in a good mood, and for some reason decides that Mac offering to do the dishes is the best thing that’s ever happened. 

When Mac leans in to kiss Dennis, he’s not thinking about anything except that good smile, and how much he wants to go home. It isn’t until Dennis is kissing him back that Mac remembers to be uncomfortable with the whole thing, but then even after he remembers to be uncomfortable, he can’t quite make the feeling surface, because there’s something about kissing Dennis that’s starting to feel  _ right _ . It’s starting to feel like just something they  _ do _ , rather than part of an act, and it  _ should  _ scare him – maybe it  _ does  _ scare him – but he’s brave, and can do anything, including kissing Dennis without a second thought. 

Maybe it’s the champagne, or the fancy clothes, or the city lights in the distance, but it feels like a movie kiss. Mac moves his hand from Dennis’ waist, and means to grab his hair, deepen the kiss, add some more heat, but instead he rests his palm against Dennis’ jaw, and leaves it there. When Dennis pulls back, Mac feels like he’s spinning, and he knows for certain that this part definitely isn’t the champagne. Kissing Dennis is equivalent to at least five tequila shots, he decides. Scientifically, that’s a fact. 

Mac feels breathless. His headache has gone away, and has been replaced by a pleasant fuzziness that colours in the edges of his vision. Dennis turns his head, and Mac takes the opportunity to lean his forehead against Dennis’ temple. He remembers how weird being kissed on the cheek had been, and decides that there’s no harm trying it now, which is why he closes his eyes, presses his lips against the hollow of Dennis’ cheekbone, and just stays there for a moment, breathing. 

“Let’s go home,” Dennis says, and his voice sounds weird. 

“I thought you wanted to talk to people still.”

“I’m sick of them.” 

“Okay,” Mac says, and brings Dennis lips back towards his own, and kisses him again. 

They ignore Dee’s calls and texts about how they  _ abandoned  _ the rest of the gang at the party, because neither of them give a shit, and the gang can find their own way home, it’s not Mac and Dennis’ job to babysit them. The moment they’re in the door, Mac kicks off his shoes and undoes his tie, and can’t help but grin when Dennis suggests they watch a movie. He’s tired, and knows he’ll fall asleep pretty fast, which is why he lets Dennis put on Reservoir Dogs. 

The opening credits have barely finished before Dennis is leaning toward Mac on the couch and kissing him. It doesn’t make sense, if they’re being technical about it, because there’s no one to see them do this, and Mac has proven several times over now that he’s a great kisser and doesn’t need any more practice, but also  _ fuck that _ , it makes a world of sense, because kissing Dennis is  _ good _ . Mac pushes at the lapels of Dennis’ blazer, and grins when Dennis breaks the kiss to remove the jacket, glaring at Mac in the process.

“It was getting in the way, dude,” Mac shrugs. 

“In the way of  _ what? _ ”

“This,” Mac responds, and kisses Dennis some more. It’s much nicer to be able to run his hands up Dennis’ back and feel the outline of his spine.

He pushes Dennis backwards, and it doesn’t work as gracefully as Mac was aiming for, because Dennis’ head hits painfully against the arm of the couch, and Dennis kicks him in the kneecap. 

“Ow, you asshole,” Dennis rubs his head, but Mac just grins at him. 

The corner of Dennis’ mouth twitches, and then he’s smiling back, open and honest and unguarded, and Mac isn’t sure why that, of all things, makes him panic. There’s a lump in his throat, an invisible force choking him. The whole thing seems weird all of a sudden. He’s making out with Dennis on the couch, with a forgotten Tarantino film playing in the background, and Mac’s heart feels ready to explode. 

Disentangling himself from Dennis isn’t elegant, and he half trips over the coffee table in his rush to get up. 

Dennis sits up and looks at Mac like he’s lost his mind. “What are you doing?”

“Gotta go to sleep, big day tomorrow,” he mutters, and it’s complete nonsense because he doesn’t even have to work until the evening. 

Dennis grunts and adjusts himself on the couch. “Yeah, okay, whatever.” 

Mac stares at Dennis, who’s wordlessly pretending to pay attention to the movie. “Goodnight,” Mac says. 

Dennis doesn’t reply, and Mac is worried for a moment that he’s fucked up really badly, and that Dennis definitely hates him for real this time, but then Dennis mutters a  _ goodnight, asshole _ back, which means that they’re fine. Mac sighs in relief, and considers sitting back down with Dennis, but concludes that it’d just be awkward.  _ Goodnight asshole _ means  _ everything will be back to normal in the morning _ , and so they’ll just ignore it until then and pretend like it never happened. 

Mac sheds the last of his clothes and climbs into bed, pulling out his well-worn copy of the King James. He can’t decide which passage to read, and so settles on mindlessly skimming some of the more badass sections of the Old Testament, while his hand creeps inside his boxers, and he may or may not get himself off while reminding himself about God’s wrath. 


	8. Dennis Reynolds vs. The Wawa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac practices coming out, and Dennis practices some unhealthy coping mechanisms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where that 'Mental Health Issues' tag really comes into play. If this might be something that affects you, see the chapter End Notes for a more detailed warning.

**1pm on a Saturday, Philadelphia, PA**

 

The chick at the Wawa grins at Mac while he contemplates the hoagie display. 

“You definitely don’t have any roast chicken?” he asks. It’s Dennis favourite, and he’s wanted to do something extra nice, to make up for being weird last night. Even though everything was  _ fine  _ this morning he wants to make it  _ more  _ fine (Dennis had even kissed Mac on his way out the door, even if he’d glared at Mac the whole time). 

“If it’s not in the case, we don’t have any,” the girl says. 

She doesn’t sound frustrated, despite Mac having asked the same question three times now just to  _ make sure _ . That she doesn’t sound frustrated kind of frustrates Mac, because it’s evidence of how pathetic and in love with him she is. He’s known that she’s into him for ages, and sees her checking out his biceps. He hasn’t banged her yet, but it’s because she’s not even that hot. Or,  _ okay _ , she is pretty hot, but she’s boring, and Mac is far too busy to be banging someone who’s so much of a loser they work at the Wawa. He’s really not interested.

“Oh, okay. What’s the turkey like?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Why not?”

“I’m vegetarian.”

Mac rolls his eyes.  _ Ugh _ . Of course she’s vegetarian. He has a sense for these sorts of things, and knows that the subconscious knowledge that she’d never even eat a  _ steak _ was causing the vague repulsion he feels at the thought of banging her. 

“I’ll just get the turkey, then,” Mac says. He reaches out to open the hoagie case, and the girl is so intent on helping him and getting all up in his business that she reaches out at the same time, and ends up jostling into him. 

“Oh, sorry, Mac,” she blinks up at him, and her eyelashes are all gross and clumpy. He knows that Dennis wears mascara, and that it looks nothing like that. When Dennis wears it, it looks  _ good _ . 

She’s just finished ringing up the sandwiches for him, along with a packet of Thin Mints that Dennis had asked for (and an extra packet for Mac, because Dennis always overreacts when Mac eats his Thin Mints), when she slides a piece of paper with a bunch of numbers on it across the counter to Mac.

“What is this?” he asks.

“My phone number. I – I was thinking maybe we could get a drink some time?” 

Mac just stares at the bit of paper, and then at the girl, and then back at the piece of paper. He remembers the conversation he had with Dennis about how he’s gonna practice  _ telling  _ people, and thinks about how gross the girl’s eyelashes look, and how he’d rather bang  _ anyone  _ else in this Wawa right now. “I just got married.” 

She blinks, and darts out to take the piece of paper back. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you had a girlfriend.”

Something disconnects on the path from his brain to his mouth, which is why he says, “Boyfriend, actually. Husband, now. I’m gay.”

Mac thinks that if her eyes open any more they’ll probably fall out of her head and roll and under the table, like the meatballs in that kid’s song he used to be scared of. Or, not like meatballs, but like whatever the fuck vegetarians eat. Like brussel sprouts, maybe. 

“Oh,” she says.

“Yep. Gay! That’s me.” He suddenly feels too warm, and blames the girl for having the heating in this goddamn Wawa turned up so high. He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I’m gay, and always have been, probably.” 

Her eyes move to his hand, and fix on the ring. “That’ll be eleven dollars,” she says after a long moment, and it takes Mac a second to realise she’s giving him the price of the hoagies. 

He feels like he’s stepped into a dream sequence as he hands her the cash, tells her to keep the change, and walks back to the apartment. His skin is too tight around his bones, and his heart is ready to beat right out of his chest.

“What’s up with you?” Dennis asks when Mac hands him his sandwich. “Did you get high without me?”

“I told the Wawa chick I’m gay.”

“Oh,” Dennis gives him a look that Mac isn’t sure how to interpret. “So has she stopped hitting on you?”

Mac shrugs, and takes a bite of his meatball sandwich to avoid giving a committed answer. 

“‘M not gay though,” he makes sure to clarify around a mouthful of bread. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day Dennis is put on grocery duty, much to his chagrin.

“If you’d just gotten milk yesterday, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Dude, I didn’t  _ know  _ we needed milk. Maybe if you’d reminded me –”

“So you can remember Thin Mints, for your secret Thin Mint stash, but you can’t remember milk? And  _ yes _ , of course I know about the Thin Mints, Mac,” he says in response to the look of horror on Mac’s face. “Of  _ course  _ I know about the Thin Mints.” 

“How –” Mac chokes.

“We share a bank account, asshole. Remember? I can see how much you spend at the Wawa and I’m capable of basic  _ math _ .” 

In reality, he came across Mac’s Secret Thin Mint Stash when he’d been putting Mac’s laundry away for him, which he’d only done in the first place to get Mac off his ass about refusing to buy ramen, because that shit’s full of MSG and Dennis doesn’t want Mac poisoning his body, and it doesn’t  _ matter _ at all, really, but the point is that this was hardly Dennis’ fault. It’s a stupid situation, and the constant bickering about laundry and milk and Thin Mints is almost so cloyingly domestic that if it were anyone other than Mac, Dennis would have damned the milk to hell and just moved out. Except this is just how things  _ are  _ with Mac, and it’s annoying as shit, but it’s also strangely fine. It’s routine. 

“If you weren’t such an asshole about your Thin Mints –”

“I  _ like  _ my Thin Mints!” Dennis shouts. Shockingly, he isn’t actually  _ that _ angry, and chalks it down to the fact that he has, all in all, had a good couple of days. There was the slight weirdness after the party, but Dennis is more than used to Mac’s gay panic. Nothing catastrophic has happened, which in and of itself is momentous enough to warrant at least a national holiday. But he’s gotta give off the appearance of fury – of  _ rage  _ on a transcendental, cosmic level – if he has any chance of waiving a trip to the Wawa. “I  _ need  _ my Thin Mints!” 

Mac doesn’t budge in his argument, and  _ god  _ he isn’t even really sure what they’re arguing about anymore, because the word Thin Mints has been said so many times that it no longer holds any real meaning. And physically? Mac does budge, but only to cross his arms and take a step closer to Dennis. It’s the pose of Mac trying to be threatening and badass, which is made even more redundant than usual by his shit-eating grin.

“And I got you your Thin Mints yesterday,” Mac says. “Therefore it’s your turn to owe me one.” He shrugs. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted milk in the first place, so you’re not even really doing me a favour.” 

Dennis hates that his argument actually makes sense.   
“Shut up,” he responds weakly.

Mac’s smile widens and he moves even further into Dennis’ space, until his crossed arms are pressed against Dennis’ chest. “Get me some Sour Patch Kids while you’re there.”

“I won’t. Because I won’t be there. Because I’m not  _ going _ ,” Dennis retorts, aware he’s being petty. “And besides, that shit will rot your teeth, dude.” 

“They’re sour so they’re actually good for your teeth. Sour is the opposite of sweet so it reverses the sugar.” 

Dennis doesn’t even know what Mac’s  _ saying _ , and the worst thing is that he doesn’t actually know enough about dentistry to prove him wrong.

“And if you want to stop by Starbucks on the way home –” Mac starts, his voice low and his mouth all together too close to Dennis. 

“ _ Goddamnit _ ,” Dennis snaps, and he means to move away from Mac, but for some reason his exasperation leads him to rest his forehead on Mac’s shoulder, and he can feel it when Mac laughs, knowing he’s won. 

“But I’m not getting Starbucks.”

Mac just hums in response. “I want a strawberry frappuccino.”

Dennis decides that he’ll go to Starbucks, but not get Mac anything. And then he’ll send him a photo enjoying his own coffee, and Mac can suffer without his stupid goddamn sugary strawberry frappuccino. 

He sighs against Mac’s shoulder, and Mac doesn’t uncross his arms, but his fingers creep out and gently clench the fabric of Dennis’ shirt. He can feel Mac still grinning at him, and without lifting his head he reaches up to poke Mac in the side. 

“You still owe me one,” Dennis says, but truthfully he’s stopped keeping score, because as long as  _ someone  _ gets the milk, and Mac is occasionally deprived of strawberry frappuccinos to prove a point, and Dennis gets his Thin Mints… it all events out, eventually. 

The flourescent lights of the Wawa always seem to buzz a bit too loudly, and Dennis resents how they make his skin look, all pale and sallow and aged. He forcefully breaks eye contact with his reflection in the door of the milk freezer. He wishes Mac were with him, and as soon as the thought surfaces he stamps it down, and maybe opens the freezer door with more force than necessary. He isn’t sure how long he’s been standing there, staring at shelves of  _ full cream, low fat, 2%, soy, lactose free  _ milk, letting the cold air turn his fingertips red, but is brought back to reality by his phone buzzing in his back pocket. 

    **Mac 3:38**

          Don’t forget the whipped cream on my frappuccino ;)

  **Dennis 3:38**

         Not going to Starbucks

      **Mac 3:38**

         Are so

Dennis rolls his eyes, and picks the cheapest skim milk, which will definitely annoy Mac because  _ it doesn’t have the same nutrition benefits, bro, how am I meant to get bulky if I don’t have calcium _ . He only grabs Sour Patch Kids because he has to walk down the candy aisle to get to the register, and definitely wouldn’t have given into Mac otherwise.

“Oh, it’s  _ you _ ,” the girl at the register says, and it takes Dennis a second to place her as the chick with awful taste who wants to bang Mac, and almost got Dennis kicked out of the store for doing absolutely nothing wrong, other than trying to have a conversation. The girl that Mac came out to yesterday, although the revelation that the object of her affections is gay doesn’t seem to have done anything to improve her attitude towards Dennis. A  _ cat _ would have better customer service skills than this bitch. 

“Yes,” Dennis responds.

He places his hands flat against the counter while she rings up the items, and taps his fingers impatiently along to the song playing on the overhead, which he vaguely recognises as some early 2000’s Top 40 shit. It shouldn’t take this long to process two items, goddamnit. 

He quickly gets bored of scanning the headlines of trashy magazines, realising that he couldn’t care less about which Kardashian is pregnant, and moves his attention back to her. She’s staring at him with a look of narrow-eyed suspicion. 

“Are you Mac’s husband?” she asks, and it’s so unexpected that it takes Dennis a moment to process the words. 

“Yes,” he snaps. “So what?” 

She purses her lips and nods, and then after what seems like a second of hesitation smiles at him. “You know, if I’d realised you were gay, I wouldn’t have caused such a scene the other week. I thought you were trying to hit on me, but I guess I should have realised –” she shakes her head. “Straight guys don’t start flirting by talking about eyelash extensions.”

Dennis feels his jaw tighten and the familiar tug of rage in the pit of his stomach, emerging from its slumber like a great dragon, ready to breathe fire and fury upon cities, upon countries, upon stupid Wawa cashiers. 

“What are you saying?” he asks through gritted teeth. 

“That I’m sorry for reporting you for sexual harassment. I’m an idiot for not putting two and two together about you and Mac, you’re in here  _ all the time  _ and –” 

“Think nothing of it,” Dennis know he’s starting to turn red, and considers throwing the carton of milk against the floor, watching it explode, and then storming out of the store while she has to clean it up. “Just give me my milk, you  _ bitch _ .” 

He thinks he must have shouted, because a few heads turn in their direction, and he wants to shout at all of them to mind their own goddamn business, none of them have any right knowing about Dennis, or about Mac for that matter, and it’s not their place to speculate, and label, and  _ judge _ , and he hates everyone, Mac included, for dragging him into this bullshit. 

“Jesus Christ, what does he see in you?” and Dennis doesn’t dignify her with a response before yelling, grabbing his groceries and storming out of the store. 

His blood feels like an inferno when he drags himself into the driver’s side seat of the Range Rover. The yelling doesn’t make him feel better, but he does it anyway. Punching the steering wheel so hard it’ll most definitely bruise doesn’t make him feel better, but he does it anyway. Throwing Mac’s packet of stupid  _ stupid stupid _ Sour Patch Kids out the window as he drives blindly down the highway doesn’t make him feel better, but he does it anyway. 

He should have been home at least ten minutes ago, even factoring time in for a line at Starbucks (and he most definitely  _ isn’t _ going to Starbucks now – Mac doesn’t deserve  _ shit _ from him) when he gets his first text from Mac. He has no qualms about texting and driving, and has even fewer qualms about opening Mac’s message and not replying. 

**Mac 4:11**

         Really dude where r u 

  **Mac 4:11**

         Dennis u know i get worried

**Mac 4:11**

          Dennis i’m gonna call cops if u don’t reply

**Mac 4:12**

          Dennis

**Mac 4:12**

         Reply

**Mac 4:12**

          U don’t ahve to get Starbucks just come home dude 

The messages continue like that for another few minutes, and it’s after the fifth attempted call that Dennis picks up.

“What,” he snaps.

Mac’s sigh of relief echos down the line, and makes Dennis’ stomach clench in anger. “Dennis, dude, thank god you’re okay. I was so worried. What’s happening? Was there a line at Starbucks, or –”

“I’m not going to Starbucks.” Dennis cuts off his rambling, and runs a red light, still unsure where he’s driving, except that it’s away from Mac.

“Oh. Why?” 

“You ruin everything Mac. You’ve ruined my life, do you know that? I can’t even – I can’t even pick up chicks anymore, because they think I’m  _ gay _ , and –”

“Fuck, is this about the Wawa chick?” Mac asks. 

“No!” Dennis lies.

Mac obviously doesn’t buy it. “You know she doesn’t matter. One chick not wanting to bang you isn’t the end of the world, you’ve still got heaps of game, I –”

“It’s not just one chick!” he screams. “How am I gonna get laid when you’re making them all think I’m –” 

“Hey, I’m not  _ doing  _ anything!” he can hear Mac starting to get angry now, and Dennis wants to push and prod and pull out every single one of Mac’s loose wires, and electrocute himself on the current of Mac’s rage. 

“You know I’ve fucked more men than you, right?” and Dennis isn’t really sure why he brings it up now, other than the fact it’s good ammunition.

“You – what? What are you talking about, Dennis?”

“I’ve fucked, been fucked, sucked dick. That’s right, Mac, I’ve had a cock in my mouth.”

“That’s –”

“A  _ sin,  _ I know, right Mac?”

“I was going to say irrelevant right now, but, well,  _ yes _ , it is. Dennis, can we talk –” 

“I’m not going to  _ talk  _ with you, so you can lecture me about God and sex, and all that idiotic Catholic  _ shit _ . After you ruined my life! I’m not going to let you ruin my life and then turn it into a goddamn moral lesson!”

“Dennis, you’re not making sense. Are you okay, dude?” 

“I  _ hate  _ Catholics, Mac,” the ammunition is loaded, and he’s cocked the gun.

“That’s not fair!” He can hear Mac torn between concern at Dennis’ outburst and untethered anger of his own.

“I hate  _ you _ ,” and this is his finger on the trigger. “I was happy, I was fine before I knew you,” and it’s easy to ignore the fact that he’s known Mac for his entire adult life. He’s almost lost track of what he’s angry about, and know his words are spinning in circles, and jumping between one pressure-point and the next, but the ringing in his ears is drowning out his own thoughts. It’s hard to keep track of anything except the simple fact of  _ rage _ . 

“I’m a  _ god _ ! A god of sex, and brilliance, and your God is  _ dead  _ Mac. I deserve better than you, you know that, I know that, the goddamn people at the  _ television studio _ know that. I saw the way they were looking at you! The way they were looking at  _ me _ ! They knew I’d settled for a white-trash  _ idiot _ . Idiot! I could have been with the most beautiful woman. I hate you! And don’t think I don’t know that you get off on kissing me!  _ Idiot _ ! I hope you know that I feel  _ nothing  _ for you Mac, and that if not for the money I would have given up on this shit  _ weeks _ ago.  _ God _ , I can barely tolerate you. You make me sick! I hate you! I  _ hate _ you!”

“Dennis –” Mac sounds angry and broken and Dennis isn’t sure when he pulled the trigger, but is violently aware that he’s now stained with gunpowder and Mac, miles away, has been left bleeding. 

“I  _ hate  _ you!” I screams into the phone, pulling it away from his ear.

“Fine then, go stay somewhere else tonight, then,” Mac snaps, his voice tinny and distant. “If I ruined your life so much.” 

Time feels fractured, and somehow four hours pass between hanging up the phone, and Dennis ordering a tequila shot at some dingy club in the north of Philly. He genuinely isn’t sure where the time went, and a voice in the back of his head that sounds infuriatingly like Mac chastises him for letting the milk go off. 

The girl he hooks up with evidently has her own issues she’s working through, because Dennis’ definitely didn’t bring his A-game tonight, and she has a dead look behind her eyes when she asks if he wants to make out. She’s hot enough that it feels sufficient to spite Mac, and to prove to the world that he’s still  _ got it _ , and that he can still bang anyone he wants. It isn’t until an hour into grinding and kissing with the nameless girl on the dancefloor that he realises he’s still wearing his wedding ring. Goddamnit. Goddamn Mac. 

There’s still rage bubbling through his blood, but it’s been cut with something like dread, and some nameless emotion that makes him want to go home, and shout at Mac, and drag him to bed and viciously kiss every inch of him until he realises how deeply he’s destroyed Dennis’ life. Instead, he kisses along this girl’s jaw, and it’s been weeks since he kissed anyone other than Mac, a thought which pushes him back towards fury. It’s strange, for a moment, to feel soft skin against his lips, rather than stubble. They fuck in the bathroom, and it’s unceremonious and messy, and Dennis claws into her skin with fingers that are shaking with the urge to smash, to destroy, to scratch out his own eyes. 

Mac told him not to come home tonight, but Dennis owns their apartment, and he has every right to stumble in at 3am, slightly fuzzy from the tequila and skin feeling caked in layers of invisible grime. The rage has given way to emptiness, but he still feels like a live wire. The only difference is that he isn't sure what’s waiting on the other side when he snaps. 

He’s kicking off his shoes when he hears a shuffle in the kitchen, and turns to see Mac sat in the dark at the kitchen table. 

“Goddamnit,” Dennis croaks, his throat raw from the pack of cigarettes he’d burnt through on the way home.

“Hi,” Mac says, quiet and tentative, “Are you still –” he trails off and leaves behind a heavy question mark. He doesn’t say  _ are you still losing your shit _ , which is what Dennis’ knows he’s thinking. 

“No,” he replies, and isn’t sure where to put his body, so just stands in the middle of the living room like a goddamn fool. 

“Should we –”

“We’re not gonna talk about it, Mac,” Dennis drags his hand over his face.

Mac is quiet for a second, and then says, “I bought milk,” and it’s so ridiculous that it sends Dennis over the edge, and suddenly he’s laughing, completely breathless, leaning against the wall for support, because of  _ course  _ Mac went and bought milk while Dennis was out losing his goddamn mind. 

“What?” Mac asks indignantly, but Dennis can see a smile pushing at the edges of his lips. 

Dennis shakes his head, and can’t quite meet Mac’s eyes. 

“Can we talk about some of it?” Mac asks again, and without thinking much about it, Dennis nods. 

“So I know you like the skim milk, but I really think that full cream is more better for before workouts, but I thought we could compromise and get low fat.” 

The laughs had subsided, but Dennis feels them bubbling to the surface again. “That – that’s what you took away from all this? That was what you wanted to talk about? Not –” Dennis bangs his head against the wall, and knows he must seem hysterical, but the whole thing is just so fucking  _ funny _ . “Not anything  _ else _ .” 

Mac shrugs, drumming his fingers against the kitchen table. “I’m used to you saying dumb shit, dude. I know you don’t hate me. It hurts me at the time and stuff, but,” he shrugs again, and the constant restless movement of his shoulders and fingers makes something deep in Dennis itch. “I get over it pretty quick. Know you don’t mean it, or whatever.” 

Dennis hums noncommittally, because he isn’t sure whether he means it or not. Right now, the things he’d screamed at Mac seem distant, like words said by someone else, and he can’t make himself associate with the burning hatred that that version of Dennis holds. And that version of Dennis does mean it, probably. But this version of Dennis, and most versions of Dennis, and the versions of Dennis that he  _ prefers _ … they don’t mean it. Mac has a point. 

“What about –”

“And I kinda knew you’d done stuff with dudes,” Mac shuffles in his seat. “I’ve watched your sex tapes. Carlos isn’t a chick’s name.” 

“Wasn’t a chick’s dick either. But you’d know that.” 

“I didn’t watch it, that’s not what I’m into, bro,” he lies. 

Dennis rolls his eyes, because it’ll always, always end like this, with Mac gripping to the inside of the closet with white-knuckled fear. 

“No lecture about God?”

“Oh, yeah, I do have one planned for tomorrow, but thought I’d let you sleep and stuff first. I always listen to God better when I’m well rested. I met this really good priest the other day who –” 

“Shut up,” Dennis says.

“I made poster boards for it any everything,” Mac continues. 

“Shut  _ up _ .” 

“I want to make sure you get into Heaven with me, dude. I don’t want to get stuck with some loser nerd for a roommate for all of eternity.” 

Dennis chooses not to question Mac’s belief that there are roommates in Heaven. He chooses not to question Mac’s belief that any of them are  _ getting into _ Heaven. 

“Shut up, Mac,” he says again, and Mac opens his mouth to say something else stupid, but Dennis is striding across the room, leaning over Mac’s chair, and grabbing his cheeks, and kissing him. 

“Is this a gay thing?” Mac asks when Dennis pulls away.

“You kissed me back. Is that a gay thing?” 

Mac swallows, and Dennis wants to lick down his throat, lick down his body, find where Mac keeps the truth shoved down deep and rip it open with his teeth. “No, because I’m not gay.” 

“Exactly,” Dennis says, and Mac nods like Dennis has made a compelling argument. He wonders whether his thumb running over Mac’s bottom lip has anything to do with his persuasive abilities. 

Mac stands up, and kisses Dennis again, and he can feel the residual anger this time. He bites at Dennis’ lips, and pushes him backwards, until his thighs hit the side of the kitchen table. The room is dark, spare the eerie blue glow of the microwave clock, and the dusty, angry yellow of the streetlights outside. The tiles are cold through Dennis socks, and Mac is a sun burning against his skin. Mac’s knuckles grip the edge of the table, caging Dennis in, and it’s silent barring the sounds of lips and tongues and breath and traffic in the distance. 

Dennis decides not to think too much about it. Thinking too much about things has never led anyone anywhere. 

“I do hate you back sometimes,” Mac whispers, his voice too loud and too sudden in the darkness. Mac must think so too, because he immediately follows it up by running his nose lightly against the skin of Dennis’ cheek. “You don’t make friendship easy, bro.” 

And that’s it, isn’t it.  _ Friendship _ . That’s the fine point they choose to put on all this. Technically, friends don’t get married. Technically, friends don’t kiss in the kitchen at 3am to avoid facing their problems head-on. But Dennis doesn’t have a better word for it than friendship, and he agrees that it’s probably the best classification they have. The safest one, at least. He’s a self-aware sort of person, and knows enough about himself and about Mac and about human psychology to know that there’s things they do that don’t typically fall under the umbrella of  _ friendship _ , but he also thinks perhaps the rest of the world are wrong for trying to tell them what they can and can’t do, and who they can and can’t be. 

Mac’s body arches against him when they kiss again, and he wonders how this is going to factor into his  _ homosexuality is evil  _ lecture. 

“It’s a good thing we’re married,” Dennis murmurs against the corner of Mac’s mouth. “I don’t have to keep it easy for you.” 

“I could divorce you,” Mac presses their knees together, like it does something to add to the threat.

“You won’t,” Dennis says.  _ You won’t because of the payout, which is what we’re both in this for _ , is what he doesn’t say, because it’s not like Mac has forgotten. 

A siren blares in the distance, and in another universe, they’re rushing towards the broken wreck of Dennis’ Range Rover, where he gave into the destructive urge in his bones and crashed it into a wall. Towards the broken wreck of Dennis’ body, where his skin is ripped apart and bloodied, rather than intact and buzzing and pressed against Mac’s. 

This is another thing they won’t talk about, and Dennis makes sure to stamp it all far, far, far down. They won’t talk about how Mac’s mouth chases Dennis’ even when they’re alone, with no audience to impress. They won’t talk about how Dennis claws at Mac’s hips in the dark of the kitchen, pressing his fingers just below the elastic of his waistband. They won’t talk about how Mac groans against Dennis’ neck, and whispers  _ oh god _ , simultaneously a prayer and an exclamation. Tomorrow, things will be back to normal, and Mac will yell at Dennis about the laundry, and Dennis will yell at Mac about the Thin Mints, and they’ll go to work, and they’ll get ready to go on TV, and they’ll watch a movie, and it’ll be  _ fine _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING:  
> \- This chapter contains Dennis having a breakdown.  
> \- This includes references to disassociation, thoughts of self-harm, suicidal ideation, and unsafe sex.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, a separate heads up that chapter updates might be a little more sparse from here on out because I go back to uni next week. I'm gonna try to stick to one chapter every fortnight, but we'll see how I go.

**Author's Note:**

> come harass me on tumblr bastardreynolds.tumblr.com


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